


The Pack Survives

by RedKross



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nobody trusts anybody, Non Northern stuff diverge after Episode 10, Post-Season 6 episode 9
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedKross/pseuds/RedKross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle has been won, but not everyone knows where to go next. Others find their path and others learn who they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones, I do not work on Game of Thrones. I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, I do not write A song of Ice and Fire. Because if I did, I would not be sinking a ship and plugging holes in another ship. Especially not a ship that shares a character.

Jon walked trough the keep on his own. He had asked a serving girl to bring a few clean rags and two buckets of scalding hot water to his chambers earlier. It had not been a hard decision on where to sleep. Wherever the Bolton's presence was felt the least was suitable. And that meant his old chambers.

It was bare. Two dressers had been placed there but, nothing else. He placed his rucksack beneath a window out towards the yard. He saw the men of the Vale there. Amongst them a man dressed in grey with a black cloak that seemed to be in command. Though quite a few of the men looked to a man in plate with a similar cloak except it was beige. Yohn Royce, Father considered him one of the best military commanders he'd ever seen. Certainly the only one he respected.

Sansa was there and spoke with them. She knew that they'd arrive. A thousand men at least died because she did not reveal her plan. Was their meeting to find a fitting end for him? To give her uncontested rule of the North?

Before he wonders much more the serving girl arrives with the rags and the buckets. "Will there be anything else, my lord?" She asks as she places them next to the fireplace.

"No, that will be all for now. Though if you could find a bed. I'd appreciate that."

"Of course, my lord." She said before she left again. 'My lord' huh. He had half a mind to let himself be trampled to death back there. But, he had made a promise. And he intended to keep it.

He walked over and closed and barred the door before he took off his bracers. Both of them caked in blood, guts, shit, and mud. Happy thoughts. Right. The tunic came next. And if the bracers were caked, then he honestly did not know what to call the thing he had rested his chin on half the time since the adrenaline had left his body. It was something. Covered the entire region of his left chest. His heart. Had his heart turned to shit during the battle, was that it? Would not have been that bad of a comparison. His only reason for living right now was to protect his sister and she had almost as good as ordered his massacre.

His under tunic was not faring too much better. But then again. He doubted anything but his shirt did. Or did it. He wasn't sure as his under tunic had full-length sleeves, and that was probably the only reason he'd think about not changing shirts. But as he took off his under tunic he saw that the mud and gore had gotten onto his shirt as well. Both sleeves and torso, probably also on his back. So it left as well.

His boots were barely distinguishable beneath the muck, shit, and gore. But he had realised after he had secured Ramsey that they'd have to go. He was not sure how he felt about any of these clothes being returned to him, knowing in what shape they were the last time he saw them.

His trousers were nothing but odd colours in even odder shapes. As he took it off he felt it snag on something and something in his left leg follow it. Blood seemed to seep down his leg from where he'd estimate the spot to be. He looked at the pile of his trousers and saw splinters of an arrow there. But he knew he wasn't hit. Or was he?

With growing tension and horror he felt along his leg and found more splinters to be pulled, but no arrow. Small wounds can still be deadly. But he should just get the Maester to heal it or just bandage it himself. He'd gotten good at that. Edd's not here to do it for him this time, unlike after Hardhome where he bandaged him as best as he could when dealing with a broken rib or two.

Jon walked over to the buckets and took a rag and started to wash off his face. It took him longer than he'd care to admit. Even with the aid of the little mirror that Arya and Robb had given him after they thought he'd skipped cutting his hair one time too many, he thought he was not clean enough. But as he kept on scrubbing himself as clean as he could over the rest of his body with another two rags he came back to his face with a new one. And finally, he thought he saw the end of the grime and the blood and the muck. The last rag he used as best as he could to clean his hair and whatever places he thought was still covered in blood and gore.

If he were honest with himself, he doesn't think he'll ever be clean of it. A pool of water or shattered ice was easy to deal with. But blood, guts, gore and shit? If he had to deal with either the visual or the smell, he'd probably manage. But both? That was a different story.

He walked slowly over to his rucksack and took out his spare set of clothes. A white shirt, black trousers, simple brown leather boots. A brown jerkin and a black tunic. Along with some food and bandages. He quickly bandaged his leg, remembering to place something in it to add pressure to the wound before he wrapped too far.

As he got dressed he saw that the men of the Vale left Winterfell to set up Camp between Winterfell and the Kingsroad. Meanwhile, Sansa seemed to enter the keep. Jon wasn't sure what to do with her, yes she had won them the day. But at what cost? She did not even seem to care that Rickon had died. Yes, he was a boy of four the last time they saw him. But that did not mean he wasn't family.

Where had the sweet girl that only wanted to be Queen and be good gone? When had she been replaced with this cold calculating being?

The more he thought and the less he liked where his thoughts had gone. Ramsey had beaten her and raped her. But what had happened in King's Landing. Slynt had said plenty before he parted with his head. But, none of it concerned Sansa directly. But he knew the name he said often. Baelish. A foolish man that had asked Uncle Brandon to a duel over Lady Catelyn's hand. He had lost, and he lived only by Lady Catelyn's mercy.

His current plot had something to do with Sansa and the Vale. So the most notable lord's of the Vale being here with Sansa and presumably Baelish as well was not a good thing. That he was sure of.

When he was fully dressed he grabbed Longclaw, he hadn't found the scabbard and belt and honestly he was sure it was best forgot out there in the field. He'd have Mikken start work on a new one tomorrow. He'd be glad to serve the Starks again.

He went out of his chambers and walked until he found Tormund standing on the top of one of the towers near the gate, looking between the field of the battle and the Vale encampment.

"I thought you were joking when you said you weren't a Southerner. But those extra Southerner twats seem to be that extra Southern just to piss everybody off. Were they part of your battle plan?"

"No. No, they were not." Jon said as he leaned against the crenellations. His cloak kept him warm enough, but the night wind was blowing in and the temperature would hardly hold for long.

"We lost plenty of men today. It better have been worth it."

"Aye, it better have been worth it."

"You're not planning something stupid are you?" Tormund asked as he turned to look at him.

"What's more stupid than fighting an army twice, almost three times as large as your own?"

"I don't know, going off killing White Walkers on your own?" Tormund said in what felt like a jest. But Jon knew that he had seen him go down.

"I may be many things, but I do not have a death wish. At least not as long as a member of my family lives."

"That is good, I wouldn't know the first thing about leading men or fighting White Walkers."

Jon chuckles at that before he responds. "Not much to it, just pretend that you know what you're doing and they'll fall in line. Or get somebody else that knows what he's doing to lead them for you. And the white walkers, a Dragons glass dagger or a Valyrian steel sword will do the trick."

"We need more men. We lost between half and two-thirds of the men we had. How many more men will these Lords give you now?"

"White Harbour is within our reach now, and they can provide us with Ten Thousand given enough time. Barrowtown, I'd estimate about half of that. Greywater Watch can provide at least Two and a half thousand men. So yes, if they swear themselves to us again we've more than made up for our losses."

"Once things are settled we'll have to head back up to the Queen's Crown, see how things are going there."

"I'll wish you luck. And give Edd my greetings. I doubt the ravens can fly much longer. See you on the Morrow before you leave then."

"I doubt we're leaving that soon. A sennight at least. But yeah, I'll see you on the Morrow."

Jon left the tower and found Ghost sitting not too far from the Kennels and he seemed to be staring ahead with his silent snarl. As he came closer to Ghost he saw why. A half eaten man sat in a chair, rope seemed to have holden him in place, but most of them were gone now. Who'd do this? It barely crossed his mind before he realised who that was, and therefore who'd done it. Or most likely gotten somebody to do for her. He was to be executed at the end of the week, a long enough time for the closest lords to come and see the return of the Starks, and the end of the Bolton's.

"Come on boy. Nothing we can do here." Jon said as he started for the Godswood. He'd spend the night out here. With the Weirwood watching over him. He could not point to why, but since they'd left Castle Black he'd felt like he was watched whenever they were near the Weirwood trees. But it was a presence he'd felt watching him before, but could never point to who it was. But it was not malicious like the Night's King.

He found the stone Father used to sit on and sat down himself. And watched the reflection pool for a moment before he dipped the last rag into the water. It was still as hot as it was the last time he was there. It would probably not start to feel the effects of Winter until it was the dead middle of Winter. It took him but five minutes to clean the sword of the blood and mud. He'd watched Father clean his enough times to know how to do it, what would make you cut, if not sever your fingers, and what would give a good polish. After it was done he laid the sword down next to the stone before he stepped over to the Weirwood tree.

He sat down and looked at it. What am I even to say? Thank you for allowing me to live, I suppose. I don't know how I could look Father in the eye in the Afterlife if I'd died before Ramsey did. I don't know how to win, the White Walkers are too numerous as is their Weights. We don't have any hope of stopping them as it is right now. Just give me a sign.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to the rock he had sat on, only to see Ghost gone and a three-eyed raven sitting on the rock instead.

An ancient, deep and powerful voice seemed to originate from the Raven but its beak did not even move.

The Second Long Night is upon the Realm of men, son of Ice and Fire. You'll find the last of my possessions in the last fortification of the Children. Choose wisely who you gift them too. They'll either protect or kill.

And a moment after the last syllable was spoken, the Raven was gone and Ghost was back to where he'd left him lying next to the rock. His body was almost that of Arya's first pony now.

He'd come to terms with Arya being dead over the last few moons. If she wasn't then there was no way that she'd not have found her way back to them. She may not have liked Sansa much, but she did not want anybody picking on her either. At least not the last time he'd seen them, but something could have happened since. The last letter he'd gotten from Father was shortly after they'd arrived in Kings Landing. Telling of the events at the Crossroad Inn. That could probably have done it, but Sansa seemed to have forgiven Arya. Or was it a trick? Sansa thinking he'd have her hidden somewhere and planning to remove the both of them at once?

As Dusk gives way to Night, Jon lights three of the standing torches that was placed around the pool and removes his clothes before going into the pool. The water was indeed as scolding hot as he remembered it being.

Ghost was looking at him funnily. As if he could not contemplate why his dumb human went into the scalding hot water. He'd tried to drink from it when he was a pup, and he'd tried again now. Same result. A burned tongue.

"It's alright Ghost. Go and watch Sansa." Jon turned his head back to the pool and loses himself in the reflection. He sees the wounds he'd suffered at the hands of Olly, Thorne and all the rest of them. It reminds him that it's probably in his best interest to leave. But he honestly can't get himself to care. If that's her plan. Then let it happen.

Once upon a time Father had said that he'd serve as Robb's right-hand man, his battle commander. It had seemed nice, that was of course before Lady Catelyn went from ignoring him to sometimes outright blaming him for things. He went from doing his best with her. To outright ignoring her as well. He still wasn't sure what happened.

He heard Ghost lie down next to his clothes, his red eyes closed in slumber. A few more ducks under the water and he himself gets up and dresses before he sits down next to Ghost. As he has done for the last few moons he sits in a half awake and half asleep state. It's odd as he was fooled while completely awake, he was not even half asleep when they stabbed him in the heart. But yet, he could not sleep.

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TPS TPS TPS

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Dawn arrives before she thought it would She'd slept, but not much. While simply redecorating the castle would work. She had half a mind to tear it down and rebuild it. But she'd probably not be allowed to. White Walkers… She still thought it was a joke. And a bad one at that.

Jon had been foolish. Ride forward to secure Rickon, while a noble gesture. Was foolish, and his continued charge was an even more foolish one. Making his own forces more tired than theirs because his men had to cover larger ground than their enemies.

Then there was Small Jon, he'd been Robb's friend. Or so she thought. And there he was, leading the charge against them. The Karstark land would probably go back to the Starks for now, but the Umber land had to go somewhere. That wildling leader that Jon was so close to perhaps. Though she was not all too sure how wise it was to give them land, they were obviously loyal to Jon. And he could think himself the rightful ruler of Winterfell and the North.

She got dressed and left for the Godswood. The Bolton's had the sept torn down since she had left. Probably after Ramsay killed his Father and his wife. Out with the South apparently.

It took her a while to get to the Reflection pool and the Weirwood tree. Seeing it again now, it looked a lot less scary than it did when she was a child. Or when she was married to Ramsay. While imposing, the face seemed right where it belonged.

She heard the snow crunch behind her. "What do you want?" She asks before she turned.

"I thought you knew what I wanted."

Baelish. She turned and there he was. As always, grey clothes and that black Valeish cloak.

"You were late."

"We arrived as soon as we could. You sent that letter rather late."

"There is a shorter travel from Moat Cailin to Winterfell, than Winterfell to the Gift."

"Not when we're travelling with Three Thousand men. Yes, most of them had horses. But even so, we had more luggage to move."

She wasn't sure what, but something bugged her about the answer. It was too full for an answer Baelish would give. Could it be true?

"Now, at the end of the fortnight, we'll journey back to the Eyrie. I'm sure that Robert will be thrilled to meet you again." Baelish continued as if what he had just said did not seem contradictory to himself at all. Which meant it was planned. He had taught her after all, it only made sense for him to keep a few things up his sleeve for when he dealt with her. Just in case she ever got an inkling to rebel.

"Of course, that will be a bit difficult now." She said slowly as she finished weaving the idea in her head. Yes, they'd agree to it easily enough. And the only ones that Jon would let be there for him. And therefore, the only ones to be there for her would be them. But they were gone now. She'd have to be quick, but otherwise, it was not a bad idea.

"And why would it be difficult sweetling? You know what I want. And I want you, we had a deal."

"Of course, we did, but the only way I could get my half-brother to join me, was if I married him. And… And I feared that if I didn't then he'd do as Ramsay did…" She cried a bit as she sobbed as she trailed off.

Maybe it was excessive, but she felt it was best to thread the line as close as possible. Otherwise, he would not believe her.

"I have more than enough men within the walls of Winterfell to take him. He and his savages can't defeat the men of the Vale."

"I'm sure we can come to a peaceful solution."

"Trust me sweetling, it'll do you no good attempting to negotiate with them. They only want one thing."

'The same as you' almost flows of her tongue. But it'd be for the best if it didn't.

Instead, she says. "Give me to the end of the sennight at least. I want the last of my family to be alive. Even if he is more baseborn than he'd like to admit."

That tasted weird. Jon was nothing but sweet. She may not have liked him when she was younger, but was he ever bad? No, he brooded. He did that even more now. Dead? She did not truly believe it, but after the way those wildlings dropped everything to fight for him, she could not think it was as simple as allowing them to come down south of the Wall.

"Of course, I will not begrudge you what little remains of your family." He says with his usual grin.

That means that he will. He plans to kill Jon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yohn gives adivce, Davos asks a question. Sansa sets the board and Jon breaks his pommel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got through the rest of what I wanted in chapter one now. So here's Chapter two.

Jon heard somebody coming into the Godswood, so he and Ghost left it in a hurry. Luckily remembering to pick up Longclaw, sorta hard not to when you lean one hand onto its hilt.

When he gets out into the courtyard he's met by Yohn Royce.

"My lord, would it be possible to have a moment with you?" He asks as he stops in front of him.

"Of course, Lord Royce," Jon says as he continues to walk. "But why, do you call me Lord?"

"You would've had a decisive victory out there if it were not for our current Lord Protector of the Vale. That would have earned you a lot more loyalty than I'd imagine you currently have."

"We have the loyalty of enough houses."

"You mean your sister? Who happened to not share our arrival with you? No offence, Jon. But she played you. We had Five Thousand men stationed at Moat Cailin, Two thousand knights and other cavalrymen rode for Winterfell after her letter arrived."

Jon showed him into the solar before he answered.

"Aye, I mean my sister. And if you had Five Thousand men there. Then why didn't you march them north immediately upon getting the letter? You're Bronze Yohn. The best commander alive." Jon said as he took a seat next to the hearth.

Yohn followed suit and sat down opposite him. "I may be the best commander. But Baelish either have the loyalty of, blackmailed or bought out the lords of the Vale. I can not do much against him at the moment. As it stands, of the Houses that opposed him when he arrived with your sister, in the guise of his bastard daughter. Only House Royce remains."

"Do you know the extent of his schemes Lord Royce?"

"No, I do not. How did you come by that knowledge?"

"Janos Slynt. He likes to talk when he fears for his life. Told me all I could ever want to know about Baelish, my father, my sisters. Anything and everything he thought would give him leniency."

"He commanded the Gold Cloaks if I recall correctly."

"That he did, Baelish promised Father the Gold Cloaks support in taking down Cersei and Joffery. But Baelish had made another pact with the Queen, to take down my father. But, it goes back further than that. He had a hand in the murder of Jon Arryn as well, as well as a letter sent north to Lady Catelyn by her sister. He orchestrated the war of Five Kings, and he did it for one purpose."

"Lady Catelyn. I remember his days as Hoster's ward was ended rather abruptly at the end of the war. Lysa was married off to Jon Arryn, and Baelish rose rather prominently as a Master of Commerce in Gulltown before being granted the position of Master of Coin on the small council."

"And he always played those around himself. From what I heard, he did anything and everything to make his position stronger. His opponents are doing good? Hire mercenaries to attack their convoys, take their cargo and kill the mercenaries with his own loyal men. Take over trade in the region. And so on it goes until all but the wealthiest of opponents are remaining."

"So, all that have ailed the Kingdoms come back to one man? Seems almost too good to be true."

"What would you have me do Lord Royce?" Jon asked as he looked at the man clearly. He had aged, of course, he had, but he was already grey of hair the last time he saw him. But it seemed to have thinned since he last saw him.

"You have your… Wildlings, and I have my trusted knights. Capture him on the charges you know of and have a trial done tomorrow. Then we'll kill him at the end of the Sennight alongside Lord Karstark. Who's left of that house now?"

"The Karstarks? Alys, I think. I'll send a letter to Karhold and tell them what happened here."

"Might not be such a good idea. They may amass what remains of their forces and march on us."

"We just crushed three of the five largest houses in the North in the field of battle over the course of a day. They will not fight. At least not so soon, after winter has passed maybe."

"So, Winter is Coming then?" Royce asks with a low chuckle.

"Castle Black's courtyard was covered in snow more than usual at least. And I've seen things beyond the Wall."

"What things? The reason I did not have a body to bury?"

"Yes, your son and his ranging party must've stumbled across White Walkers."

"White Walkers? They're fairy tales. Right?"

"Tell that to the Wildling's at Hardhome, Five thousand of them got out, but Tens of Thousand did not. I killed a Walker there, barely. Their weapons seem to be made out of ice and shatter steel weapons either with their own weapons or their skin."

"Then how did you kill one?"

"Valyrian steel is not simple steel."

"So, about a hundred and some men to fight the Walkers, and what have we got here now? Ten thousand to be generous with the men left after your brother's campaign. Alongside the men we brought to fight the Wights?"

"You seem to believe me a lot easier than my sister. Still not sure she believe me."

"I may not be a great liar, but a man like me have not lived so long without learning to see when others lie. Remember that, and you'll most likely live as long as me." Royce said with a smile as the finished.

"Thank you, Lord Royce."

"No problem. Now, I wanted to talk with you on the succession of Winterfell. Your sister has the stronger claim, but we both know sooner or later she will have to marry. I come to you to suggest something, that I'd rather not suggest if I'm, to be honest. But it has been done before in situations like this. Her namesake did it as well I believe, but not for the same reason I think."

"If you'd get to the point Lord Royce," Jon asks with a slight smile.

"Yes, well. If the heir of a House is a woman, and she has a baseborn sibling, it is not unheard of for them to marry. Therefore removing outside influence on their House."

"You're suggesting me to marry Sansa? She's my sister!" Jon exclaims in shock. Yes, she was pretty, or so he had thought once. After waking and especially after yesterday he was not sure if he could even stomach the idea.

"Yes she is, and if you don't. Then, believe me, Baelish will. And then he will have the North and the Vale in his grip. How long till he has the Riverlands? And then, how long till he has the Iron Throne?"

"So, capture Baelish and then Me and Sansa marry?"

"From a purely political standpoint. Yes, that is for the best."

"I'll have to get Sansa to agree on Baelish. There's no way she'll agree to it if she is not with us."

"Right now, that is a secondary concern. She can warm up to you after you've married."

Jon was not entirely perplexed by it, but he did not agree with his sentiment. She was still his sister. No matter what she'd done or ever would do, that would not change in his mind.

"If you see Ser Davos, could you send him here? I need to have a talk with him. Oh, and before you leave, Baelish is the man in grey clothes and a black Valeish cloak?" Jon asks as he walks over to the Weirwood desk.

"Yes, and yes he is. Is that all?"

"Yes, it is," Jon says as he tiredly begins to search trough the desk. It is devoid of almost anything. But the ledgers he knew was there was still there. Last time they were updated were a few moons ago, the harvest was good, the tax income was quite high. Extortion most likely. The men available were quite high, higher than it ever was when Father ruled Winterfell. Most likely it was threats that made the small folk comply.

Before he has time to look for anywhere more books could be hidden he hears the door open. Jon looks up to see Ser Davos stand there.

"Ser Davos, how are we doing?" Jon asks as he signals for the man to take a seat.

"We're doing fine. The bodies have been burned. The Noblemen's ashes have been burned separately to collect their ashes for their families to do with as they wish."

"Good, while the bodies may not be returned to them. Having something is better than nothing."

"I thought your father's remains got here?"

"Aye, they did. But not my brother's or Lady Catelyn's."

"I'm sorry."

"You did not know. Is there anything else?"

"No, except the Bolton bastard seems to have disappeared. But no guards are dead or missing. And they all kept post where they were told to."

"He... He has been dealt with." He'd take the blame if need be. But he would not tip his hand one way or the other.

"I thought we'd wait the sennight so that all of the nearby lords could see the end of his reign. I'm sorry to say, but the death of the last Lord Karstark won't give the same signal as the public execution of the Bolton bastard."

"Ser Davos. What's got you so upset? This does not feel like it's just about the lack of an important execution."

"Do you remember Lady Shireen?"

"Yes. A sweet girl, she liked to read books about all the interesting events of Westerosi history."

"Yes. I believe the Lady Melisandre sacrificed her, for what I do not know. Better weather, or something. She always managed to make Stannis do what she wanted."

"How certain are you that she did it?"

"I carved this stag for her. I found it under half burnt wood just outside of where Stannis had his camp." Davos says as he places a blackened stag, sans its hind legs and one of the antlers, on the desk.

"He sacrificed his own daughter?"

"Yes, powers in Kingsblood. Or so she says."

"Aren't the Baratheon's related to the Targaryen's somewhere. I think that Robert's mother or grandmother was one at least."

"Possibly. I never really learnt much about the relations between houses like that."

"So, what she really wants is the blood of anyone related to Targaryens, or old Valyria. Seems like she is in the wrong place in the world to perform any of her magic now then."

"Yes, I suppose she is."

"I'll bring her to the Great hall. You'll question her, and most likely she'll be added to the list of those to be executed at the end of the sennight."

"Good. That is good. I'll see you there around lunch then?"

"Yes, that'll be good I suppose."

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Sansa found Ser Davos as he left Father's solar.

"Ser Davos, could I have a word?" She asked as she led him into what had been father's bedroom. It is still bare, just scrubbed clean of what soot was there and fire-cracked stones changed with new ones.

"What do you need my Lady?" Ser Davos asks as he closes the door behind himself.

"If anybody asks, Jon and I married just after leaving Castle Black. It was one of his conditions for leading my army."

"He did that for nothing, why would I lie about this?"

"Because, right now that is the only thing that has the potential of keeping him alive. Just trust me on this Ser Davos, you do not deal with Lord Baelish without having a plan of your own."

"I know, I've heard more than enough of the man to be more than weary around him."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asks, a nibble of doubt creeping into her mind.

"I heard he had a hand in your father's capture, possibly even his murder."

"What? No, he pleaded for my father."

"In public, but in private he swayed Joffrey's opinion towards killing him. I don't know the details, but Stannis mentioned that the man had a thing for Tully's and hated Starks."

"And I look like a Tully." Not exactly new. She learnt all of that when she was in the Eyrie.

"Exactly, and Jon looks like a Stark."

"Just, please if anybody asks. And if you see him. Try to get Tormund to agree with this as well."

"Of course, just don't lose yourself to the Game. It's better to play and not be a part of it than to play while being a part of it. That's at least what I've learnt so far."

"I'll take that under advisement," Sansa said with the first smile she's had since... She can't even remember, did she really smile when she fooled Lord Baelish in the Eyrie? Or when she met Jon at Castle Black? Perhaps he's right, she needs some time to evaluate herself. Figure out what's right and what's wrong. She did not disagree that Ramsay needed to die, Jon had even offered her to be the one to kill him, but she doubted he'll agree with the way she did it or when she did it. She knew that the Lords seeing him die would be important as it sent a signal to the North that the Starks were back, and the Bolton's were gone. Forever. She'd made doubly sure of that when they stayed with the free folk. They gave her some moon tea to do so.

After Davos had left she exited the room and went into the solar. She did not expect Jon to sit there and go over what amount of the taxes were gained by extortion and what were not. She had a better head for numbers when they were younger, but he had training while in the Night's Watch. And she had not used any of her skills since her Septa died. And that was two, almost three years ago.

"Jon?" She asked as she stopped in front of the desk. His eyes rose slowly up to hers as if he did not dare think she'd come to meet him.

He sits back in his seat and seems to visible gulp. Was he afraid of her?

"What is it, Sansa?" He asks as he gestures for her to sit down. She'd rather not though and says what she came to say.

"Do not trust Lord Baelish, do not go anywhere alone. And I need you to do something for me…" That was a lot harder to admit. It was not that he wasn't good looking, not what she'd ever imagined as a child. But it was true, she'd always thought Father to be good looking, maybe not as much as the Knight's she'd heard of. Or even Loras. But he was good looking in his own right. And Jon was the image of Father, so, why was it so difficult to say?

"What is it, Sansa?" He asks in that same annoying tone of voice he uses almost all the time.

"I need you to pretend that we're married. That you're…" This would always be the most difficult thing to ask of him if his Honour ever got a personification he'd probably marry it.

"That you're less noble than you are." She said in a low voice, still not sure what his reaction will be. But as he had held his tongue as she gathered her thoughts again, he would not yell at her. At least she hoped he wouldn't.

"Why would you ask me that? I'm your brother." He asks with a slight infliction of emotions to his voice, the first time since they talked at Castle Black. But then again, outside of planning, they had not talked since then.

"Because if you don't then…"

"Baelish will marry you and take over the 7 Kingdoms over the next year." He adds tiredly.

"What? He is not that kind of man."

"Isn't he? Did he tell you what happened to Jeyne? Or why Father was captured?"

"Father got captured because I ran to the Queen like the silly girl that I was." Sansa yells as she collapses into the chair that was behind her.

"It wasn't your fault Sansa. I know that Baelish promised Father the Gold Cloaks' support when he went to confront the Queen. But they were really working for the Queen."

"What about Jeyne? Where did she go?"

"He was planning to pass her off as Arya, but before that, she was forced to spend her days in his brothels."

"No! He wouldn't… He would, wouldn't he?" Sansa asks as she looks up to Jon again, and he was visibly sad. Did he have a thing for Jeyne when they were younger? No, he wasn't interested in her. Besides Sansa herself, Jeyne was the biggest taunter of Arya.

"All he wants is power."

"And a Tully girl." Sansa can't help but say. "One as beautiful as Mother, and nowhere near as insane as Aunt Lysa."

"Yes."

"What happened to her? To Jeyne?"

"That was all I heard. Apparently he didn't know much more, and from what I've heard. The Faith Militant have purged Kings Landing of its Brothel's and other places of sin. If she's alive, she can have ended up anywhere."

"Or they killed her for being there, even against her will."

"Maybe, The Seven were never my religion so I don't know what the punishment will be."

"They won't care. The South makes pretty songs, to lure us in, only to destroy us when we're trapped."

Slowly Jon starts to chuckle and that chuckle moves on to being a laugh.

Sansa looks at him and wonders what's wrong with him.

"Sansa, there's a reason I joined the Night's Watch, instead of allowing Father to take me south."

"He wanted you to go south with us?"

"To look after Arya mostly, but also to be your sworn shield."

"But you hated me," Sansa said without thinking as she leant forward in her seat.

"I didn't hate you, I just thought you were too… I don't know, too dependent on others."

"That hasn't changed. Not much anyway."

"You need a Commander of your army. The rest you can manage on your own. We both know that in a sennight, you'll manage to do this without a problem." Jon said while gesturing to the ledgers and the parchment strewn around the desk.

"You have experience in actually doing it, though." She says futilely.

"Maybe, but we both know you're the heir, I'm just… The in-between lord."

"You shouldn't have to be. You're a good man Jon. Where will you go, if you won't stay?"

"I don't know. Kill a Queen perhaps?" Jon asks with a grin. It's genuine, but it also seems to hide malice.

"Don't. If you have to go south of the Neck, don't go near the place. Please?"

"I can't promise that Sansa. Did you talk with Lord Royce about that? That plan of yours?"

"No, I didn't. Why?"

"He came to me with a similar proposal."

"It, it wasn't a proposal Jon. It is an act, pretend that we're married."

"Yes, I know. Just thought that he was meant to soften me up." Jon said with a wry smile that disappeared almost immediately.

"He meant for us to be married?"

"Yes, like your namesake. She married her Uncle if I recall correctly."

"But, we're siblings. That's wrong, that's what Cersei and Jaime did."

"Yes, which is why I don't exactly agree. Even if his other point stands. It will remove potential outside influence on our House."

Sansa looked at him then. Really looked. He did not seem all that put together. How much of that was her fault? For asking him to help her instead of walking off and do whatever caught his fancy. Had he kept up that facade ever since Castle Black or just since yesterday? She hoped it was only since yesterday.

"We need the Vale, without them we'll lose our hold on the North."

"I was thinking of asking for your cousin to come here, and be our ward."

"Why? The Vale won't accept it. They're so isolated from the rest of the realm."

"I think Lord Royce will, at least if his sicknesses have abated."

"Lord Baelish says they have."

"Then what harm can it do? He is your cousin Sansa. I'll leave it up to you."

"What about Uncle Edmure? Why shouldn't they send Sweetrobin to him?"

"Because your Uncle is under the Lannisters rule now. He is Lord only in name now." Jon says with a downcast expression.

"Oh," Sansa says as she thinks over all the Lannisters have done to their family. Their Father, their brother, her Mother, and most likely their sister as well. And Lady. And now, possibly, her great uncle as well.

"Sansa, we're going to take Baelish to trial. He'll take Ramsay's place in the execution line."

"What?" Sansa asks as she reacts to the world around herself again.

"We'll capture Baelish, and he'll be put to trial for all he's done. And then at the end of the Sennight, he'll be executed."

"On what charges? All of the ones I and Lord Royce can put on him."

"I can add to that," Sansa says softly as she considers her last day in Kings Landing.

"Oh, what is that then?" Jon asks cautiously.

"The poisoning of a King, and the murder of a Knight."

"OK. But we have to trust each other now."

"Of course."

"I remember a verse that Arya or Bran told me once. Seems almost fitting now."

"Go on then," Sansa says with a small smile.

"Well. Not sure how appropriate it is but, you wanted me to be a bit more baseborn so." Jon says with a twinkle in his left eye.

"When Winter comes You'll hear no Lions roar, No Stags grazing the fields, No Roses growing in the meadows, No Snakes in the sand. The Sun will cease to warm the land, the Kraken will freeze where they swim, the Flayed man will rot and wither, No Trouts swimming in the river and no Falcons flying in the air. Not even Dragon's breath will warm you in your halls. Only the Wolves will howl in the Night."

"You were right, that's not all that appropriate," Sansa said with an honest smile. It was not bad, but she did not like how all houses but Stark seemed to be doomed according to that verse.

"Yeah, I should have thought it over. Try to not make it seem like the rest of your family is doomed as well at least… But I'm not a bard."

"Jon, if you were a bard, I'd pity the rest of the bards." She said in jest.

"I'd hardly manage to sing, let alone compose…"

"Jon, it was a jest. Stick to what you know, for the both of us. Please?"

"Of course," Jon says before he walks around and pulls at her arm to get her to stand up.

"Here, goes nothing," Jon mumbles under his breath. He kisses her on her hairline. As chaste as it sounds, but Jon would hardly know how to kiss someone. Though she had heard about somebody named Ygritte. The large one, Tormund had mentioned her a few times.

"You're terrible at this." Sansa laughs as she hugs him. It was sort of nice, having a man that seemed afraid of her. Even if it was on pretend, at least that seemed to be all that he'd be willing to go for. While she was not comfortable with Lord Royce's idea herself, she had to agree that he had a point. For now, at last, they were the last Starks. And therefore, it would be best if they kept outside influence at a minimum.

"Sorry, it's been a while. Not that, not that it was all that normal." Jon says as his left hand comes up and settles at her waist while his right-hand stroke up and down her spine, occasionally stroking trough her hair for a moment.

"The Wildling girl? You actually broke your oath?" Sansa questions as she starts to question how much of what she'd heard of this man that once were her half-brother was true.

"Sansa, of all that you've heard of me. What have you thought were true?" Jon asks, again back to that almost lifeless tone.

"Nothing," Sansa confesses softly.

"As far as I know, all that you've heard is true. I killed Qhorin Halfhand to join the wildlings. I climbed the wall, and I left the wildlings to report to Castle Black. I fought at Castle Black, I lost friends there and Ygritte died there. I went out to negotiate with or kill Mance Rayder. I let Tormund and what wildlings were captured to settle in the gift, and I ventured to Hardhome to get them here, instead of becoming soldiers in the White Walkers army. I killed a Walker there."

His right hand seemed to have stopped at the nape of her neck, alternating on caressing her skin or coiling her hair around one of his fingers.

"So, the dead are truly coming?" Sansa asked, her voice seemingly going back to how it was whenever Arya did something terrible to her when they were children.

"I'm afraid so," Jon said as he slowly stepped back. His eyes were softer than she could recall they'd ever been. Certainly the softest they'd ever been while looking at her.

"I trust you."

"We've got so many enemies now. Karstark, Umber, Baelish, Lannister, and Frey. Anybody else to add to the list?"

"No one that I can recall at least."

"Then that's who we'll never negotiate with. Not until they've paid." Jon said, and she knew that he meant it wholly and truly.

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Jon enters the Main hall and its dining hall. He quickly scans the room and notices a man he's never seen before sitting on the Weirwood chair set aside for the Lord of Winterfell. But that's not his reason for being here right now. Mikken. He recalls seeing him after the battle was over, and unless he's changed his behaviour completely, he'd get lunch as early as possible. He was sitting next to a few men at arms.

"Mikken, can I speak with you for a moment?" Jon asks as he stops next to him. The old man looks up and a spark of joy seems to settle into his eyes.

"You look just like Lord Stark did, when he got back from the war." He says as he gets up with an obvious limp in both legs.

"Are you alright? Should I call for the Maester?" Jon asks as he grabs ahold of the man as best as he can with one arm. His other still holding Longclaw.

"No, it's too late to do much about it now I'm afraid. The Bolton's thought it bad that their best smith wanted to leave. So they made sure that if I ever tried, I'd most likely be captured without too much of an issue. Now, what do you require of me, Jon?"

"I'd like you to make a scabbard for me. For Longclaw." Jon said as he showed the sword to him.

"Hand and a half, seems like the standard width, a bit longer than the average one. Valyrian steel. Not sure how easy it will be to make, they cut trough almost anything with ease."

"I know. Maybe work it so that the crossguard stops it moving or something. I doubt we'll find the old scabbard until the spring as it is."

"I saw. The guards that were left in the castle didn't view me as a threat, so I was allowed to watch. Please, do not scare an old man like that again boy."

"Sorry. It was not exactly planned." Jon said. And it was true. Sansa was right, Ramsay doesn't fall into traps, he lays them.

"No, it was not. Part of me wonders if that was truly Rickon. He seemed so old for an eight-year-old."

"Aye, his hair seemed more brown than red. But he seemed so much like Robb when I was about to get to him. His hair could just have been covered in mud or something." Jon says as they stop before the dais upon which the high table and the honoured guest tables stands.

The man sitting on his Father's chair was a young noble, seemingly the book definition of a Knight in appearance with Sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He seemed a cocky man.

"What are you doing in that seat, Ser?" Jon asks as he steps up and stops in front of the table.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Bastard?"

"Seems like you're sitting in the wrong seat."

"I was not aware this was made special for a Bastard."

"Are you a Northman? How about being the blood of the First men? I'd wager the answer is no to both. So get out of that chair before I make you."

"Like a Bastard like you can make me do anything."

Jon hammers the pommel of Longclaw into his head so hard it cracks. The two polished gems that were in it lands onto the table while the pieces of stone drop right down into the man's lap.

"Seems like I added another task for you," Jon says as he takes a hold of the cross guard of the sword and hands it over to Mikken.

"I'd always dreamed of working on a Valyrian sword. Not all to certain what I can use to make a pommel of, though."

"Doesn't matter, as long as it can take more than a stone one can, then it should be fine."

"I may have something, I got it last Winter but have yet to find something to use it for. Yes, it should work."

"Mikken, I'd trust you to reforge all our weapons, just do what you want. Though I'd prefer it to be a dire wolf."

"Of course, of course. Wouldn't give it to you with a lion on it." Mikken jokes as he starts to walk. Slowly examining the blade and the old hilt. Seemingly unsatisfied with it as well.

"I'm sorry, Lord Snow. I was not aware the chair was set aside for Lord Stark. If I were, I'd have him get another one." A rather oily voice spoke from his left. Baelish.

"Lord Baelish I presume," Jon says as he turns sideways. He notes that Lord Royce comes down the line to pick up the knocked out knight.

"Quite the grip you've got there." The man says. His eyes though seemed to say, why didn't you die yesterday?

"Aye, a good swordsman know when to have a loose grip and a strong one."

"Never had much of a talent with the sword myself. Commerce is my area of expertise. A lot more profitable a lot quicker, if you know what you're doing."

"I'm sure it is," Jon says with a wry grin. This man truly was something else.

"Congratulations on your marriage. Just make sure she's happy. I'll see you later, tonight perhaps?" He said although his eyes seemed to say- just you wait, I'll get mine soon enough.

"Aye, I will. After supper maybe."

"Yes, that is agreeable." The man said before he left.

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Arya walked trough the gates. It was the first time she'd ever been here. But she already felt back home. Back in the North. She heard talk about a Battle of Bastard's. The Bolton Bastard and the Stark Bastard had fought two days ago, and it had apparently been a near annihilation of the Stark forces, except for a timely intervention of the Lord Protector of the Vale.

She'd heard who he was. The slimy one. The one that was Master of Coin. She never liked him, he felt weird. And Father never liked him either.

She'd also heard Sansa was with Jon. Sure, they'd probably never be best of friends, but if there's one thing she's sure of. It's that she'll never dismiss Sansa as foolish again. She'd probably died trying to escape, or jumped out of the tallest window herself, if she was stuck in Sansa's place. At least if half of the events in that theatre were to be believed.

She'd get home. But first, to find Nymeria. She'd had dreams of her as of late. Ever since she got onto the ship. Nymeria was with a pack of smaller wolves, for whatever reason she thought of them as smaller cousins in her dreams.

By the next day she'd found her, her pack was not that small. She counted at least ten dozen of them! A picture of Moat Cailin enters her mind as Nymeria comes up to her. Men sat there, some wearing maile, some plate. Some only their padded shirts. But they all fled in different directions as the pack ran trough. Nymeria herself seemed to only be walking while her pack runs trough. One of the men seems to think himself a hunter as he brings a spear as he runs towards Nymeria. Only to have the spear bitten into two pieces before Nymeria runs off before anyone starts to attack her while she's unaware.

"You've been good Nymeria. Shall we go home now?" Arya asks as she comb trough her fur with her fingers. She was truly large now, almost a small horse or a huge pony. Certainly large enough to ride on. If she allowed her to at least.

As if she'd read her mind Nymeria seemed to lower herself a bit as to allow her to get onto her.

"Do you remember the way?" Arya asks as she climbs on.

A solitary howl was her answer. The pack awakening around them. She can almost pretend to hear a howl in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review responses from FFdotNET:
> 
> Casema:  
> I'm 100% with you, Baelish begone! In a chapter or two. And yeah, the show seems to have put so many fluffy conversation scenes in all the storylines. "Hey, we'll have two Starks together for the first time since the start of season three. Should they have a conversation?" "Nah, they'll expect that. Let's not do it." But it seems like they'll finally have a conversation next episode that's not about the battle. So here's hoping.
> 
> Swoob:  
> I see that as part of what he 'downloaded' into Bran. A premade message to be sent at the first available moment after the requirements have been met. AKA, pure plot device, but then again Greensight is more or less pure plot device, so? Nothing's really changed here.
> 
> DATGUY:  
> How is Jon emotional? I mean he is cynical, and he's just trying to review his purpose. Again. And no, Jon died once! Beric died seven times, and it was not necessarily personality that gets changed. We've really only got two ways for it to go. Loose some memory, or warped personality. Beric forgot the way to his keep. He remembers thinking that his betrothed was beautiful, but not how she looked like.
> 
> Angie B:  
> She's staying detached. That's how I think she copes with all that's happened since her Father died.
> 
> Guest 1:  
> There was a will in the books, and I have no idea if it was made in the show, I've read somewhere that it was, but I can't remember. I may look it up and see if it was and if so I may, bring it up.
> 
> Guest 2:  
> I think that second part is straight up Jon's fault. He should have thought about sneaking in as a tactic in the first place. But then again, he would not be Jon if he wasn't honourable. As for the rest, did this chapter tell you enough?
> 
> Please subscribe and Review :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos talks. Jon gets some insight. Yohn is tired of Baelish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping a few days :) Did not feel like writing on Wednesday, and then yesterday I attended a funeral and the time before leaving and after coming home did not leave too much time to write.

What in the name of the Seven was the girl thinking? He knew that the North was different. But surely such a relationship between kin as close as a brother and sister were frowned upon here as well.

He had not planned to seek Tormund out, but as he and a few dozen of the Wildlings were in the courtyard with a dozen of the Mormont men he did not need to seek him out.

"Davos!" The man yelled at him from where he was handling a broadsword. What had happened to his old one? not that he didn't think the upgrade was needed.

"Tormund. Found yourself a new blade, I see." He said as he came to a halt in front of him.

"Not, sure. This armoury is filled with all types of swords. What did you call them?" Tormund said as he eyed the leader of the Momont men. A rather short man by the name of Jory.

"Short word,the one you're handling is called a broadsword, then there's a long sword. Hand and a half or bastard sword. Then you've got a two-handed sword." The voice sounded bored, and not exactly like a man.

"Why the need for so many variations. Not simple enough with one type?" Tormund asks as he sheaths the sword and fastens the belt around himself.

"Some types of swords are better suited for certain things. A short sword or broadsword works much better in hallways that are not so wide, or when working one's way up stairs. Or defending them. A bastard sword, on the other hand, is better when you know that you'll lose your shield, or at least when you believe that you will."

"And the Two-hander?"

"Never really seen much of a point for it myself, but there's been a few that can use it properly in battle. Personally, I'd avoid them at all costs."

"Oh? Fearsome are they?"

"Very. Don't like losing either. One of them chopped off the head of his opponent's horse once."

"Seems like a worthy opponent. Unlike these butchering twats."

"Last I heard, both of them died. So, you'll have to find other worthy opponents."

"Davos, do not steal my thunder." The red-bearded man said though he could see the slight twitch of his mouth that signalled it as a jest. A moon's turn back and he would most likely not have seen it.

"Anyway, as I've found you. Could I speak with you for a moment? Alone." Davos asks as he enters into the Armoury. He remembers from when they searched trough the entirety of Winterfell that there was a backroom where the Master of Arms tended to go about his business.

As he heard Tormund follow him he entered the room and closed the door after he entered it.

"What is it? I doubt it's to compare our members." The man says in an open jest as he lowly chuckles at his own joke.

"No. The Lady Sansa asked me to ask you to tell anyone that asks you. That you witnessed her marry Jon shortly after they left Castle Black. Within the Fortnight I'd reckon."

"She's his sister… That is wrong."

Davos had to school his features. The Wildings had something against incest? That was, honestly, odd news. He'd expected them to think it normal.

"We steal our wives from other communities, tribes or clans. Keep the blood in the communities fresh."

Oh yes, and what's to stop somebody from stealing their cousins? Or nieces? Seems about as bad as it sounds.

"They're not married. They'll pretend to be, so as to stop another man from clawing his way into power here in the North."

"Power. Bah. Seems like that's all you Southron's care about."

"Well, this one is a real Southroner. It's the man with the grey hair wearing grey clothes and an odd cloak that seems to be the norm in The Vale."

"He's the one that led those Southern Knights here. Saved us."

"Aye, he did. But he more than likely delayed the charge until he thought Jon was dead."

"Why'd he do that?"

"So as to make sure that there would not be an independent rallying point for the North. Sansa would be ripe for the taking so to speak, the North, with the exception of the Mormonts of Bear Island, does not trust Women to rule. Less so after all that Cersei Lannister has done over the last few years." Davos says as he leans against the desk midway trough.

"He wants Sansa for himself?"

"Yes, he's clawed himself into becoming the Lord Protector of the Vale. Sort of a ruler before the actual ruler is old enough to rule. And he wants the North as well. Besides that, as the Lord of Harrenhall, an old gigantic castle in the Riverlands, he can possible worm himself into power there as well. And then he'd have three of the Seven kingdoms under his rule. And possibly manage to win a war against the Crown

But he wants Sansa as his bride. Or so it seems to me at least. If I could just get Lord Bronze Yohn alone, I could figure it out."

"He is what? Three times her age. Even for Wildlings, that's disgusting. Fine, I'll lie for the girl. But it better be worth it."

"It will be, we can not have infighting right now, we just don't have the men. They're either dead or being healed." Davos said as he was about to leave the armoury.

"How old were their brother again? He seemed a bit old to me."

"I don't know. Never learnt much about the North, to be honest.

"The way Jon talked about him, he was a boy of six. Your boys grow quick because he looked like he was what our fourteen-year-olds look like. Instead of nine."

"I'll take that under advisement," Davos said before he left trough the door.

 

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Jon had left the Dining hall right after he had eaten his own fill and left to search for Melisandre. She was not easy to find, even with the Wildlings and men of the Vale being helpful, or so he hoped, in pointing him after her. But he found her in the Winter Garden looking at the Winter Roses.

"I had a vision once, of a Winter rose springing to life at Castle Black. I think I know why, now. It was you." She said as she looked up at him.

"Last time you misinterpreted a vision it was snow being a symbol for me, and now another one has a Winter Rose reference me."

"The few times I've asked the Lord about you, I've never been able to clearly see what he shows me. I see a red river, a tower that stands alone. A white sword about to kill your father. Many things, but few of them seem to be about you. The only thing I've seen about you was your father talking with a Dornish man near a harbour, I could not interpret its words. I asked later about its meaning and saw many things, things that should have been."

"That seems like a bunch of rubbish strung together to entice me."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, I'm sure it'll make sense when we need them to. Now, why were you looking for me."

"You heard?"

"No, I just assumed you did not have a habit to visit the garden. And you did not seem like the man to have that habit."

"I did actually. I came here and picked a Winter Rose to give to my aunt's statue at least once a moon. Don't recall why, to be honest. Never learnt much about the rest of the flowers, but I know what conditions the Winter rose require to grow and mature."

"Were you close to her?" A look of curiosity came over the witch, he'd never heard that be a good sign.

"No, she died before I was born." It was the only answer to give, if she knew half as much about his family as she'd given the indications of doing before, she'd know that from before.

"I'm sorry for prying into your past."

"No your not, this is not Northern History. It's Westerosi History, anyone half literate in the Seven Kingdoms knows of it!"

"That they may do, but I am not of Westeros."

"I have met men from Essos, but you do not sound like them. Therefore, you must've stayed here for long enough to hear of it. I may not play the Game, but I know it."

"What did you seek me out for then?"

"I would like for you to join me for Lunch." Jon says and does his best to not grit his teeth.

"I saw you entered the Dining hall shortly after lunch began to be served."

"Very well then. Ser Davos have accused you of orchestrating the Death of the Lady Shireen of House Baratheon. We are to host your trial now at the end of Lunch."

"So that you'll gain the support of the Lords of the Vale. How… How politically suave of you."

Jon bristled at that. "This is not politics, this is you killing a girl for no reason other than to practice your blood magic." Jon yelled at her.

"I was commanded to clear the way so that King Stannis could continue towards Winterfell. The Lord demanded a sacrifice."

"Aye, as you drained the King to make a killer shadow to kill his own brother, as you leeched blood off of a bastard of Fat King Robert to kill the other kings. Seems to be a much steeper price to remove the weather than to kill somebody. One leech of blood killed three men, but you require a little girl to move the weather?"

"I do as the Lord commands of me."

"This Lord commands you to stand trial. And it isn't a request."

"Led the way then." She says as she turns towards him.

Jon was taken aback at that as he honestly did not expect her to agree so easily, but he led her back to the dining hall. And not to late either as he arrived as most of the Lords and Knights were about to leave and get started with their work.

 

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Davos found Yohn putting a young man with blond hair into a wheelhouse.

"Had too much to drink?" He asked the older man.

"No, a pommel to the head." Yohn says as he signals for the man to take him out to the camp.

"Found a new employer already, Ser Davos?" Yohn asked as he led him up onto the wall.

"Not so much as found, as needed one. To be honest, he may have needed me more at the time."

"Oh? I doubt a son of Ned would have had much difficulty doing anything. Unless they got betrayed, as have been the songs I've heard sung of all the Starks in recent years."

"Aye, he was. Killed actually." Yohn looked at him warily at that.

"I heard stories that a shadow killed King Renly at Bitterbridge. And my Maester told me that the Maesters at the Citadel have been in an uproar over these last three years."

"Oh? What happened?"

"The candle of magic re-lit. It went out when the last dragon died. And now it burns as bright as it ever did."

"So, any magic is back? Even say, hypothetically, the Children's magic?"

Yohn gave a rueful laugh at that. "You seem to have spent too much time with these Wildlings. There's no proof that the children existed."

"But you believe Jon about the White Walkers? Why not the Children as well?"

"Well, folklore would have us believe they made the swamp lands of The Neck. Excuse me if I find it a bit hard to believe they did that overnight."

"I've never seen Moat Cailin myself, but most people I've heard tell of it, it is the largest and most imposing structure of its age here in the North and most likely anywhere."

"It's possible. But what makes their magic different, in your eyes?"

"No bloody idea. I just know that from the tales, they never demanded blood. But then again it could work in a completely different manner and be impossible to learn."

"Never seen or heard of it, though then again, the Maesters wanted the Dragons dead because they were magical beings. And the Maesters feared them because of it."

"Sounds about right, Stannis' Maester cared for Shireen, but he still feared her."

"I'm sorry, I recall you cared for her more often than not." Yohn said as he looked at the man that probably were the only one to care for her for herself rather than any other reason.

"Aye, she thought me how to read. She found it funny, a grown man that didn't know how to read."

"For most of us, it is. We've forgotten how privileged we are over the centuries. We just know this as our way of life." Yohn says as he looks over the field, assessing how things would have gone differently if they'd arrived earlier. A medium sand glass at a time. One- They would not be encircled. Two- They would have been mid-battle. Three- The cavalry charge he'd heard about.

"Never trusted Baelish. And this battle proves it. I knew I'd regret coming when I saw his men being the only outriders and scouts."

"He delayed your arrival?"

"Aye, he wants the Lady Sansa. And he wants the North. No doubt he told his outrider to wait until he could no longer see Jon before he returned."

"It's been good talking to you, Lord Royce. Now I should probably find my son before he does something foolish." Davos says and leaves out 'Like helping the Red Woman flee.'

He found him rather quickly as he entered the Main hall, Devan being on his way out.

"Father, Lord Snow bashed in an anointed Knight's head!" The lad told him fervently. The lad was not old, Fifteen namedays unless he's lost track of the moons entirely. Dressed as he was in his gambeson, maile and partial plate he seemed a lot fiercer than he was. Though he was, unfortunately, a loyal supporter of the Red Woman. Hopefully, his old fierceness and love of the Lady Shireen would tip his judgement.

"I'm sure it was well deserved," Davos said as he entered. Devan following, knowing that his father had not eaten lunch yet.

"He sat in the wrong chair. Like that's a reason to do that."

"We're in the North. It could be an important chair."

"Anywhere else the chairs of the Lord and Lady of a keep is easy to spot as their different from the rest."

"And was it?"

"It was paler, I suppose."

"Made of weirwood, I'd imagine. Many important things here are."

"I thought they worshipped the damn things?"

"They did, Stannis summary was that at first, the First men chopped them down, then they fought beside the Children and then they worshipped the Children's trees. So I'd imagine they chopped them down to make items that set them apart from other items. Such as thrones, tables, desk. Possibly even hilts of their great leader's swords."

Devan did not seem entirely mollified, but he knew that his father did not hide much from him. If at all.

 

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Jon entered the Dining Hall with Melisandra walking behind himself. He'd stopped and checked that it was her several times already. But he was not prepared for the amount of men still there when he entered. He saw Davos and Devan sitting just beneath the High table, and around the high table he saw most of the Lords present, and around the hall sat the Knights and Commanders and others that were notable but not a Lord.

Jon walked ahead and took his seat on the Weirwood throne. "Ser Davos, if you'd begin." Jon said as he laid his arms onto the table.

"Did you order King Stannis to burn his own daughter? Did you?!" Davos asked as he got up and walked down next to her. His gaze never wavering. Though Jon noticed Devan looking fearfully around the room. He'd noticed that the boy seemed infatuated with the woman, he could not tell if it was because of her magic or if he genuinely just thought of her as beautiful.

"I did as I was asked by Stannis. He asked for clear and traversable weather. The Lord required a sacrifice."

"I've seen you make shadow's that kill men on their own whim. I've seen you throw a few leeches filled with blood into the fire and within a few moons turns those men died. And you tell me that to clear the weather, Your Lord of Light demanded a child?"

"Was I supposed to sacrifice the King instead? You were the one who helped the boy escape. If he had stayed, then he would be the one sacrificed."

"As if it would make a difference, you're all out of your magic now."

"Am I?" She asked as she looked around the room, seemingly taking notes of who was usable for her sacrifices. The last one she looked at was Jon.

"It doesn't matter. It's wrong. Blood magic is wrong." Davos said as he looked between Jon, Devan and Melisandre.

"Do you have anything to say in your defence Lady Melisandre?" Jon asks as he stands up.

"Only that I did it in the service of the Lord."

"Then you'll be executed in five days time." Jon says as he walks forward to stand in front of her, but out of reach, remembering the way she looked at him and a handful of others just moments ago. "Take her to the cells, I want Mormont men and Wildlings as guards." Jon told Ser Davos.

"It'll be done." Davos said before he left. Jon looked back and saw Devan looking between them again, seemingly unsure who to get mad at.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets a man, Baelish makes a play. Sansa reconnects with an old friend.

Jon had to leave the castle for a while, so he left his usual clothes in his chamber and took on an outfit Yohn had given to him. It had a red shirt, brown boots, natural trousers, dark brown tunic and a black surcoat alongside a beige Valeish cloak. It might not do the best at hiding who he is, but it'd do for now. He had to get away and think. Melisandre's visions and the words of the Three-Eyed-Raven flowed in his head and made him wonder, what made him special?

The Second Long Night. That one was obvious, the White Walkers. Meaning that the stories were true, or at least based on the last Long Night. Son of Ice and Fire, that one baffled him. What did it mean? Was his mother a Dornishwoman? That was the only thing that made sense to him, it also tied in with what Melisandre said about his father talking with a Dornishman. But why would they be talking near a harbour?

What was the next thing the Raven said? Last of his possessions near the fortification of the Children. Also rather obvious, the only know fortification of the Children was the Neck, or rather Moat Cailin. So somewhere near Moat Cailin were his last possessions. But what possessions could a Raven, three-eyed or not, have that would be that important?

Choose carefully who you gift them to, they'll either protect or kill. Also obvious, he was not actually inheriting them, he was actually meant to decide who was fit to wield them. Would be nice to know what it was before he left there. It was maybe a sennights ride if he could change horses at every holdfast near the Kings road between Winterfell and Moat Cailin. If not it would be two.

It was not hard to imagine the Raven's words. But Melisandra's words were rather odd. The red river could be anything. A river where a battle has taken place and momentarily turned red from the blood. Or it could be the Red fork. Or potentially Ruby Ford, that one Jon almost laughed at. Why would THAT have anything to do with him.

The tower he did not know. He's seen and heard of towers that stand alone in the countryside as a watchtower or toll station. But it did not seem like it was anything like that. And the white sword, the only white sword he'd ever heard of was Dawn. Ser Arthur Dayne, one of the men Father faced when he went to rescue Aunt Lyanna.

He walked trough Wintertown, it had gotten a surge of people moving back over the last day. As much as could come in that time, but he expected that the year-round population would return in full before the fortnight was over.

It was not many people around, and as he had pulled the hood of his cloak up, the few people that would have managed to recognise him wouldn't. As he rounded a corner, to head towards one of the markets he used to frequent with either Robb or his younger siblings, he ran into what felt like a brick wall. Both he and whoever he had ran into fell back.

Jon got up quickly and looked at who it was. A strongly built man with black hair that barely covered his ears. His clothes seemed to be rather well made if a bit torn at the edges. Though he had good winter boots, gloves and cloak. He did not seem to be of the North at all.

"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." Jon said as he held out his hand. The man seemed hesitant of taking it.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You actually turned yourself into a man!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about… Who're you?" Jon asked as he looked him over again, not exactly sure who this man was, or who he thought he used to be."

"Gendry, I'm a smith. M'lord."

"Well then Gendry, who do you think I am?" Jon asked with a tired smile as he looked at the younger man.

"Well, if you did not turn into a man. Then you're Jon Snow."

"And if I did turn into a man?" Jon asked as he looked him over with a warrior's eyes. And the man seemed to adopt a fighting stance, albeit a poor one.

"Arya Stark?" The man seemed to say in a question.

"Where did you meet her?" Jon asks as he grabs onto the man.

"The road from Kings Landing, we were in a group heading for the wall. But then Lannister men came and took us to Harrenhall. We escaped, but the Brotherhood took us and then they sold me to the Red woman. I don't know what happened to her, though I hoped she'd continued North to you after her brother died." The man explained to Jon.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three-quarters of a year ago or so. It's been a while since I saw a calendar or a date M'lord."

"She'd barely had enough time, but odds are she was at the Twins." Jon says as his mind goes back to the last time he saw his sister. Being forced into a wheelhouse. Before that, it was him giving her her sword, Needle. And she was truly gone. Why are the Gods such vicious beings?

Jon looked up and the man was returning the way he came, seemingly lost in thought himself. Wait, had he said 'Red Woman', as in Melisandre?

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Sansa had barricaded herself in her room and stayed there since she and Jon had parted outside of the Lords Solar. Jeyne was dead because she had trusted Baelish. She had trusted him to get her out of Kings Landing as she was not as important as she was and therefore would be more likely share fate with Father if something were to happen.

A knock on the door was not something new, there had been several in the few long hourglasses since she barricaded herself inside. She was not sure, but she thought a few of them were Baelish. But this one she recalled. It was not as familiar to her as Mother, Robb or Father's. Or even Jeyne's. But it was close.

"Sansa?" A voice asked, though she could not say she'd ever heard it be so timid before, it sounded like Beth. She'd survived?

"Beth?" She asked. Her voice somewhat hoarse from her crying.

"Yes."

Sansa got up from her bed and walked over to the door and unbolted the door and let the girl in. She was thinner than she remembered. Her face doubly so.

"What happened?" Sansa asked as she sat down in front of the hearth, dread pooling in her stomach.

"The Bolton's wondered if they could make the lords think me you. They seem to have almost succeeded." Beth said as she looked Sansa over. And it was true. If one did not know, then Beth was almost a copy of her. A few inches shorter, a bit broader and her hair was lighter than Sansa's. But they were not too wrong.

"I am sorry." Both of them said at once. Sansa looked perplexed at the younger girl.

"Why are you sorry Beth? You did nothing wrong." Sansa asked confusedly. The girl while mean to Arya, that was something all three of them had done and it would not have anything to do with Sansa.

"I wished you did arrive, I had seen what he did to Theon and I did not want to think that it would happen to me. I know it was bad, but I thought better you than me." Beth said with downcast eyes.

"I just wish that I could turn back time to when we were all here. You, me, our fathers. Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Theon, Jeyne and Jon. Before I went south, and just slap myself silly."

"What help would that do?"

"I don't know. Slap myself silly whenever I said something silly about becoming Queen, or marrying a southern knight. Knight's don't exist."

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Yohn was in a rather good mood. A good few of the Lords Declarant's had been there and seen how Jon had handled the Witch. Luckily most of them seemed in favour of him, though by how much he did not hazard to guess.

He found Nestor on the wall and asked him to secure the camp and send their men back in a hurry before Baelish could make his move.

He looked out toward the camp and as his brother neared it, he saw a man leaving it. Quickly becoming obvious as Lady Waynwood's ward. Harry. Did he not do enough earlier. And how could he ride with the headache he had to have right now for that matter? He had been knighted shortly before they departed, and he seemed to lord it over every squire there was in the camp, honestly, he thought it luck more than anything that he'd made it as far as he had.

He found Davos talking with the Red-bearded Wildling. "So, if we send men here we should stop any southern invasion?" The wildling asks as he points at a map they'd laid out over a table.

"Yes, Moat Cailin is the only safe passage into the North by land. If they try to go trough the swamp, then they'll be fooled to walk in circles and picked off by the Crannogmen. No one with half a head will try it. The problem is that Moat Cailin is not in good condition. If we had a year or two, we could repair most of it. But as it is, we'll still be better off than staying in flat terrain."

It was true, he recalled that Rickard had talked about it alongside his many other project ideas. But now, it was but a dream for the next generation again. The current one would have enough to deal with in restoring the North to what it was when they were children.

"Ser Davos, if we could speak for a moment?" Yohn asked as he led the man into the armoury. He recalled Rodrik kept back here quite often the last time he was in Winterfell five years back.

"How many of your men do you trust, Ser Davos?" Yohn asked as he looked over the Onion Knight.

"All of them. Maybe not for myself, but for Jon they'd do almost anything."

"Why?"

"Well, he tried to secure his brother before the battle."

"Which led to the decimation of his cavalry. If this Ramsey Bolton had half a mind for military tactics, he'd have let his own vastly numerically superior cavalry deal with his opponents. And then where would you have been? His own blood thirst destroyed him there, but it was a mistake on Jon's part."

"Aye, perhaps it was. But he proved to them, that he was not trying to usurp Lady Sansa's place as the heir to the Starks. I don't think the Northmen that joined us were sure if they could trust him until that moment."

"True, they would not know who to trust, and who to not trust. But, if on enters into battle without trusting one's commander, then the battle's as good as lost already."

"What is it you want to know Lord Royce?"

"My brother is sending up five knights, their squires and five dozen men at arms. We need to arrest Baelish before he does something. This showcase of Jon's will not go unnoticed by him and will if anything make him move a lot quicker."

"Do we need that many to arrest one man, a slimy one sure, but a man that has no skill with a sword."

"He's got men that are loyal tho himself. Blackmail, gold or simply thinking their interests aligned."

"Good point. I'll get on it, the Mormont men that's not currently on guard duty. And whatever men Tormund thinks will be good enough."

"The Wildling?"

"Aye, good man. A bit brusque, even by my standards. But he knows how to fight, and he's not too bad to have as company. Anyways, I'll go and see that they're ready."

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Jon was about to enter into the courtyard of Winterfell when the gates closed. They were not supposed to do that. They were only to close at nightfall, as they were to open at dawn.

"Sorry, but the commander's order was clear. No one in or out till the morning." The guard called down. Great. His own guardsmen did not even recognise him. How was that possible?

Jon ventured back into Wintertown for a bit until he heard fighting break out above, in the courtyard. That man from before was running to him, for whatever reason. He carried a sword and a dagger. Seemingly unsure of why he was there.

"What do you want?" Jon asked as he leant against a barrel.

"I… I wanted to help."

"How did you know that we'd need help?" Jon asked suspiciously.

"There were some men asking around for buying weapons and armour. That's all I know."

"Wildlings?" Jon asked worriedly. A few of them seemed to find the idea of spending small coins to get things rather hilarious.

"No, southrons by the look of them. Though a few may have been Essosi."

"Baelish." Jon said as he looked up towards Winterfell.

"Where's your sword?"

"The smiths. I may have ruined it."

"I heard it was Valyrian steel. How do you ruin a Valyrian steel sword?!" The man seemed not just perplexed, but angry at the idea that he ruined the sword.

"The pommel was made of stone, it gave in when I hammered it into a man's skull. Do you know how to use a sword?"

"Not too well, but I know enough."

"You use the dagger, and I'll use the sword. Come with me." Jon said as he grabbed the sword and ran towards a local stable. Luckily the owner remembered him from when he was young and let him borrow two horses.

"Where're we going? Shouldn't we go the castle?" Gendry asked as they rode out of Wintertown's front gate.

"And we are, just need to find the entry way." Jon said as they entered the Wolf's wood. It was on the opposite side of where they'd set camp, and nearly impossible to get to without being seen from Winterell. But there it was. Hidden and secure as it was the last time he'd been there.

"What're we looking for?" Gendry asked,

"A weirwood sapling was planted next to it. A white tree, should not have become much taller than us by now with red leaves and red sap coming from a face near the bottom of it."

"You mean this one?" He asked as he walked closer to it. Something was wrong about it, Jon could tell. But he could not recall what it was. When Gendry was ten feet away he fell trough the ground. Oh, right. They covered it up and the staircase was to be found on the right-hand side of the face when you looked towards it.

"My bad." Jon called out as he started looking for the staircase. The wood had rotten up all the way trough it seemed because Jon barely had to kick it for it to fall apart.

"Are you OK?" Jon asked as he descended the stairs.

"My head hurts. My back hurts. No, I am not OK."

"Well, you stay here and look after the horses. I'll go in. Do not follow me, you'll get lost down there." Jon said before he left and entered trough the door. Iron bars covered in wood. They never found the key so they never managed to lock it, but then again it was to be used as an evacuation tunnel. Though, considering it was not disturbed it hadn't been. Then how had Bran and Rickon gotten out?

No time for that, Jon thought as he rushed trough the crypts and found himself to where Aunt Lyanna's statue was. It was just a few more steps and he would be to the stairs that led up. And the fighting was going on in full outside. From the sound of it at least five dozen men fighting.

Slowly but surely Jon walked up the stairs. When he got to the top he saw Tormund dodging an overhead swing by a knight only to bash his head in with the crossguard of his sword. When had Tormund gotten a new sword?

Jon walked outside and into the Courtyard itself and noticed Davos fighting next to Yohn. Apparently, the two were comfortable with each other though it did not seem like they'd ever fought side by side before. He saw another man with a beige Valeman cloak fight not too far away from them.

And suddenly he had three men on him. All three of them seemed to be attacking as synchronised as they could do without having trained to do so. He dodged the first one, that got him out of range of the one to the left. But the into range of the one to the right. A block and a kick to the shin got him back. Another block to the one in the middle before he jabbed his sword trough the side of the throat of the man on the left. A jab in the face of the man in the middle with his left hand and he stabbed the man on the right in the chest.

These men did not wear armour. At least not much. Bracers, greaves. Boiled leather of various kinds. But nothing that would stand against maintained castle forged steel. Where had this Gendry gotten his hands on this?

Jon's mind immediately went to Sansa. Was Baelish making a move to take her? He'd heard his men usually dressed themselves into looking like mercenaries. And around him, he saw mostly men dressed like that fighting Wildlings and Valemen.

Without a second thought, Jon renewed his hold of his sword and ran into the keep. But once he got inside he realised he was not sure which room Sansa had chosen to be hers. Quickly he got to the wing that housed the Starks. And quickly opened them one by one. It was first halfway trough that he thought about which chamber she'd likely take for her own. The Chamber set aside for southern guests, though it had become the Lady's chamber after Lady Catelyn married Father. It was the warmest one in the castle.

Hurriedly Jon ran to it and found the blond-haired man from the Main Hall trying to break in.

"What business do you have with the Lady?" Jon asked, and quickly realised his folly. This man was armoured and seemed to somewhat know what he was doing with a sword.

"You." He said as he got away from the door and drew his sword. "I'll enjoy killing you, about as much as I'll like being married to your whore sister."

He swung wide so Jon only had to sidestep him. And as he did not wear a helm a quick stab along his throat killed him. Jon did not even wait to see him drop before he went to the door he had been hammering on.

"Sansa?" Jon asked as he knocked.

"Jon?" a foreign sounding voice asked.

"Yes?"

He heard footsteps and what sounded like furniture being moved. Then the door unlatched and a girl with auburn hair looked outside. Noting Jon and the dead Knight. She signalled him to enter. Jon put his sword next to the door before he re-latched it again.

"Are you alright?" Sansa asked as she looked him over.

"Yes, not a scratch." Jon said with faked enthusiasm. He could not say he was happy, but she was alright. As long as she was, then he had a purpose. A morbid reasoning, but a reasoning nonetheless.

"Good." Sansa said as she hugged him again. His hands came up to comfort her on their own as he looked over at the girl. Beth Cassel, he recalled. About Arya's age but she was friendlier with Sansa and Jeyne. Though she was actually given training with a sword and a bow as the second in line to inherit the position of Master of Arms of Winterfell, she was more often than not a Lady like Sansa.

"It'll be alright." Jon said as he laid his head on to her shoulder, as she did on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off. That was an amazing season finale in so many ways. Especially the Frey pie and the Mad Queen Cersei. RIP Margery :( Like, she just declared war on the one Kingdom with their full army intact.
> 
> Also, am I alone in thinking they should have cast the actor of Wyman as Robert and the actor of Rober as Wyman?  
> Also, next season will be awesome, just because we get to see Tormund interact with actual Southerners :) I think they missed an opportunity when they didn't show us Tormund's WTF face when they thrusted their swords up into the air. Also, Davos fumbling with his sword when he joined in :) Just, Davos being Davos I suppose. 
> 
> Also, I'll move onto having a chapter every two days or so now. Just to try to have some sort of schedule to it.
> 
> PS: I seem to have a habit of starting any non-planned sentences with 'also' :p bad habit is bad.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon speaks with the condemned, Sansa hears something odd and reaches a conclusion.

Jon stood by the window in the solar and looked out into the courtyard as the cleanup was finished. No more bodies. No more weapons. The Valemen may have had a part to play in this, but it was a minority. And Royce himself said that they would be dealt with once they'd returned to the Vale.

A message was sent just after the battle, to establish supply convoys to the North. By ship to White Harbour. And by land to Barrowtown and Winterfell. Though provisions by land would be harder as the Lannisters and Freys hold the Riverlands, but as soon as the Twins fell, the supplies would start to come in from land.

But first Moat Cailin had to be manned. It was a ruin, hardly defensible if not for the massive size of it. He'd gotten word from White Harbour and Greywater Watch that masons and other construction workers, as well as a portion of their men, had been dispatched to start the repairs. Wars make things that should have been done in peace a lot cheaper. In fact, all it cost was their food, plus some extra for their families. All in all, nothing he'd worry about. Between White Harbour, Winterfell, Last Hearth and Barrowtown they had what they needed to supplement the weaker villages and keeps. Especially with the supplies from the Vale that would start coming soon.

But now Jon was not worried about the supplies. Baelish was in his cell, as far away from the other two prisoners as possible. Those two were not that far apart, unfortunately. And that was where he was headed. To speak with them. Harald and Melisandre.

It was not a clean dungeon. But what dungeon was? Perhaps with the exception of the Ice Cells. They were clean. Ice, ice and more Ice. With the exception of the doors, they were made of wood and Iron. Iron that did not freeze solid.

Jon took a seat on a bucket that Harald had been given to mop of the worst of the grime that he had been covered in.

"Why did you do it, Harald? From what I heard, you and Small Jon were some of Robb's companions during his campaign."

"He killed Father because he decided to kill the Lannister boys."

"Squires, aged no more than twelve that had barely held a sword against the one they squired for or that keeps the master of arms, yeah they are big threats."

"Lannisters none the less."

"Aye. But I think even you know the difference between somebody who fights or leads men, and a prisoner that if the world were different would just be training to fight in Southron Tourneys."

"You didn't even try to break your vows, of course, you wouldn't know what vengeance is."

"Didn't try to break my vows? I rode south the same night I heard Robb was assembling the army. My brothers reminded me of what would happen if I did that. Robb would be forced to execute me, or give up more than enough men to change the battles against his favour."

"Hahaha. I knew the Honourable Bastard of Eddard, wasn't that honourable. Maybe it would have, and maybe you would have convinced him that Theon could not convince his father to join our cause. And therefore, we'd still have had Cassel training troops and raising levies to repel the Ironborn."

"I'm quite surprised that you joined the Boltons. Do like Glover did and stay out of it, but not join them. They worked with the Lannisters to kill Robb, Maege, GreatJon and how many other Lords of the North?"

"Things change. As I told Ramsey, it's time for new blood in the North. It's all old men that relive the glory days of The Dance. Kuh, what do they know of what's going on these days? They barely look outside their keep. Let alone their lands."

"You said you went south to kill Lanisters, yet you worked with the Bolton's. The Bolton's worked with the Lannisters. Therefor you worked with people you consider to be your enemy."

"Fuck you, Snow."

Jon shook his head at that and went two cells down to where Melisandre was.

"Lord Snow." She said in greeting. Her voice the same as always.

"What was different. When Father's conversation with the Dornishman went differently?"

"I saw Two Vipers in Winterfell, guarded by three shadows, a Lion and Three Direwolves as well as another Viper. A Black Direwolf in a Garden made of Water in a desert. A War of Four Kings instead of a War of Five Kings. It'd be over before the onslaught of Winter."

"Sounds about as well made as the last one you gave me."

"And I'm sure these will make sense in time as well. They always do, even if not in the way we think of them when we see them."

"I'll see you in a few days, My Lady." Jon says as he heads out of the dungeon.

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Night had almost arrived, the quiet was good. Though she was not too sure how good it was. Her chamber was furnished now, all the belongings she had in the Vale had been brought up alongside what she'd made on the road. It was not all too good, but it was good to know that her sewing abilities had not fallen too far. For the most part, she'd retained everything, though that was not saying much, she'd been leagues ahead of both Beth and Jeyne. The less said about Arya's sewing abilities the better.

Ravens had arrived from the nearby holdfasts telling that lords with their guards were en route to Winterfell, and the Lord of the holdfast joined them on the route to Winterfell. They are expected to arrive within the next day or three, depending on which holdfast. So, the first few Lords arrive then. The latest ones, like Lord Glover, Alys Karstark and Wyman Manderly should not arrive until the last day. They had too far of a journey to make in that time.

Sansa was about to lie down in bed when she heard padding and walking in the hall outside. Not unexpected. But she believed he'd work trough the night like he did last night. Then there was the knock on the door.

"Jon?" Sansa was not sure why he'd come to her. They had their own bed 'chamber' in the tent, but it was two sleeping accommodations in the back of the command tent.

"Can I enter?" He asked. She notes that he wasn't comfortable. But he wasn't shy either. She'd expected him to be shy in such a situation with anyone except Arya.

"Sure." He entered the room and seemed to take in not just that it was furnished. But also that it truly felt like summer in the south. Something he's never felt.

"This is… This is warm." Jon says as he takes off his cloak and hangs it over one of the chairs near the fire. Ghost lying down alongside her bed, his head barely being covered by the bed if one were to try to lie down on the floor and look for him.

"He truly isn't small anymore is he?"

"No, once the runt. Now he's the last one standing." Jon says in his usual tone, nearly toneless. It hurt. It hurt to know that his self-hate, as covered as he might think it is, was still there. It was still eating away at him. Taking him further away from realising that he has all he ever wanted.

He takes a seat on the chair and looks into the fire. Seemingly with the same eyes she had noted Melisandre had when she looked into them, had he learnt her magic?

"What are you doing here, Jon?" Sansa asked as she sat down on her bed.

He looked back at her, "I'm protecting you. That's all." Then he looked back into the fire again. Seemingly searching for something.

It hit her for the first time then, that if he had died like he and the Wildlings had said. Then he truly didn't know where he was going, odds are if she hadn't arrived when she did he would be gone. He'd have gone south to do whatever he could to avenge their house. He'd have died again and he probably wouldn't have cared. He just wanted vengeance for Father, Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon. While it would've been vengeance for her and Mother. It probably would not have been noted for him. Just that the Lannisters paid their debt to the Starks. Would he and Ghost have fared any better in the South?

She got laid down under her furs and said: "Good night Jon, try to sleep some as well."

When she awoke the next morning she could have sworn she heard him say "Sleep? Why did we ever do that." As she fell asleep herself. Looking towards the chair, it was empty. The rug next to the fire, however, had Jon on it. He seemed to be asleep if it wasn't for his eyes being open. A milky sort of layer to them, not unlike what she'd heard blind people had.

She walked over to him, at the same time looking to see that Ghost laid on the side asleep where he had been when she had fallen asleep.

"Jon?" She asked as she knelt next to him. A look of confusion came over him as he blinked and looked at her. His eyes back to how they were.

"Ygritt?" Jon asked as he squinted his eyes as he looked at her. That name was familiar, she'd heard it a few times. But beyond that, she didn't recall it.

"No, it's Sansa." She couldn't help but to brush his hair back out of his face.

"Oh." Jon said, while at first, she thought it was his usual tone. It had a hint of relief, but a larger hint of sadness. Right, Ygritt was the girl that, if the rest was true, he'd fallen for when he was North of the Wall trying to learn what the Wildlings were going to do.

"It'll be alright, Jon." She said in the tone she'd used on Sweetrobin. It didn't feel right. But she wasn't sure what would. But why did he think she was his lost love?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scabbards, Executions, and sleep.

The sennight has been chaotic so far. Dealing with the Vale Lords had been rather easy. Lord Baelish's crimes were revealed the night of his arrest, and so far no one had voiced their concern. Though Lady Waynewood was rather aghast in finding her ward being part of his plots.

It was the rebuilding efforts that had taken time. Winterfell itself was more or less done with for now. It was Wintertown that required the most attention, there were many houses that required repair. A dozen warehouses, another dozen inns, and five dozen houses that the Mountain clansmen used to live in. But as it was, the Old Keep was being reviewed for restoration.

Though none of that was what made it chaotic. The other Northern Lords arrival was. Even Robett Glover seemed hostile to the Valemen. Though so far Wyman Manderly told him that the hostilities was because the Vale Lords did not join Robb during the war. Something that would have turned the tide rather decisively. As would a second host of Northmen, but he digressed on that. Saying that they would have been too green to have been of too much help.

Jon sighed as he sat up and looked around the room, he'd remembered to not fall too far into sleep so far, but he was still afraid of a repeat. He hurried to what was supposed to be his chamber and quickly changed into the clothes Sansa had prepared for him. Not too different from what he'd worn while on the road, but definitely better made.

Fully dressed Jon ventured out to the smithy. Mikken had taken on Gendry as an apprentice and seemed quite taken with his abilities. Though he had refused his assistance with refurbishing Longclaw. Citing that to work on a Lord's sword, especially a Valyrian one, was not a simple task given to just anyone.

Gendry seemed hard at work on a sword, while Mikken was nowhere to be found. Gendry looked over as he quenched the blade. "Mikken is in the back. He said that you could enter when you arrived."

He wasn't the most talkative, which he honestly though was fine. Especially now that there were so many Lords in Winterfell. True, half of them were Northern but even they could talk more than he cared for at times.

The back was mostly filled with materials for the smithy. Though it also housed half done projects and such. Mikken was sitting at a table not too far from his bed. Which if he thought about it was not that odd, it wasn't that huge of a smithy after all.

"Mikken. I take it that, as you're here instead of out there, that it's done?" Jon asked as he sat down on the bench.

"Yes, a medium hourglass or so ago. A bit closer than I expected, but it got done in time." Mikken said as he pushed the bundle towards him, covered in cloth.

Slowly but surely Jon unwrapped it. The hilt was made in the resemblance of a Direwolf. Instead of the barely red gems that it originally had, it was rubies. Not too dark, nor too bright. But what intrigued Jon the most were the colour of the metal that the wolf was made of. It seemed white, but with a hint of an icy blue.

"What is it?" Jon asked as he looked at Mikken.

"A metal that the Clansmen brought me last winter. Took me a long time to melt it down. Luckily it was easier to work with than it was to melt it."

Jon nodded to that as he looked over the handle. The wood seemed odd. It was too white. It was made of Weirwood! Jon looked up at Mikken, and his look of horror must've told him what he was going to ask as he nodded immediately.

"It was hard to heat the Valyrian steel to the point where it'd burn the wood, but I managed it. It shouldn't be that easy to damage this one." Mikken said with pride as he tore off the last of the cloth for Jon, revealing the scabbard. It was easy enough to see that he'd had help with the scabbard. One of the artisans of Wintertown, if not one of those of Winterfell. He saw scenes detailing the Starks' lives throughout Mikken's life. From Rickard Stark's rise to Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North all the way to the Battle of the Bastards as he'd heard some lords call it. One side alone was dedicated to the Starks throughout Rickards lifespan, while the other detailed them throughout his own. It was all bordered by six wolves running after one another. The Mother Wolf, Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, Shaggydog and then Ghost. He'd recognise those colourings, even like this, anywhere. While the wolves were coloured, the scenes were made of white and grey on the brown background of the scabbard. It certainly was an interesting scabbard that he'd have to look over more closely later on.

Looking to fasten it, he discovered that there was no belt.

"Here," Mikken said as he took out a simpler one made of black leather, still with the wolves running around it. But not with the rest of the scenes. "Thought that one could be used for ceremonies. But this one takes a lot less time to replace, so you can use it when you go on a campaign."

"Thank you. I should probably get back before they break their fast." Jon says as he takes the belt from the other scabbard and fastened Longclaw onto the belt, for so to fasten it around himself. The second scabbard he took in hand before he clasped Mikken on the shoulder. "You did a good job with this. Thank you."

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Jon had gotten back to break his fast with the rest of the Lord, Thank the Gods. Sansa was not entirely sure why he was up so early. But she knew it had to do with his morning fog that first morning. After that he'd always been up and held court, talked with a Lord in private or gone over the books when she found him after the morning meal.

He was wearing a sword again, for the first time since after the battle. She could recall him dropping the scabbard when he was facing the cavalry charge, but would it take a week to find it again? But the more she looked it over, the more she realised that it was not the same sword. Its pommel was made of silver, whereas the old one was made of white stone. This one had eyes made of rubies, whereas the old one had red stones that were almost black as eyes.

She thought she heard that new smith lamented about not being allowed to fix the Valyrian sword. From all she'd heard, and she knew that was little, Valyrian swords did not need to be fixed. A well worked Valyrian sword did not dull, it did not rust, it did not get notches. The only thing that had ever damaged a Valyrian sword was Dragons fire, and so far the rumoured Dragons were still well away in the furthest reaches of Essos.

But he had a sword that looked like it belonged to a Lord, if nothing else, ready for the executions later. The last few Lords were expected to arrive between now and the time they'd usually serve the midday meal.

As she finished her own meal, she left for the Lord's Solar to meet with Jon there. It didn't take him long to follow. He didn't eat too much, probably to used to the gruel they ate at the wall by now.

"Sansa?" He asked as he walked around the desk. He unbuckled his sword belt and sat it at the side of the desk.

"I thought a Valyrain sword couldn't be damaged." She wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. She looked between Jon and the sword.

"The sword can't be, but no one ever said that the pommel or the hilt couldn't be." Jon said with a nervous twitch of a grin. Did he find her confusion funny?

"So you had the pommel repaired, with silver?"

"No, it's a… I don't know, some sort of metal. Different from silver and gold. Some mountain clansmen brought it to trade last Winter, the ore that is. Seems to have an icy look to it at times."

"Yes. Winter silver?" Sansa asked as she looked up at Jon again.

"Either that or Winter Gold, Ice Gold? I'll leave the naming to you. Though it should probably be given to Mikken."

"I don't care either way. I just want to know what to call it." Sansa said with a happy look, the North had its own precious metal?

"Come on, I should probably show you how to swing it."

"Swing it?"

"I thought you'd want to execute Baelish yourself?"

"Yes, but won't it be heavy?"

"Not that heavy. It's much lighter than a short sword."

"Alright." Sansa nodded as she rose to her feet.

As Jon unsheathed the sword. She notices the wolves running around the scabbard. Scenes she can not recall depicted on it.

"Those are. Those are our wolves." Sansa says as she picks up the scabbard. One hand skimming across the wolves.

"Whoever did this must have a good memory."

"Aye, probably worked here for as long as Mikken did. Come on Sansa, we can look it over together tonight. For now, you need to learn how to swing a sword even if it is just for execution."

"Yes. You're right, it can wait. This can not." Sansa said as she looked at Jon. He showed her different swings that could be used, from the overhead to the shoulders. It was not that they seemed difficult, at least not once he'd allowed her to hold it. It was light, heavier than most thing's she's carried, but not by much. But she was afraid of accidentally hitting herself, Valyrain Swords were famed for their sharpness after all.

"Mikken's given his new apprentice the same task he's given all of them. Armour. More specifically, maile. He was rather enthusiastic up until the point where he was told he'd make 50 maile's and first then would he be given a new task. One of those tasks was a triple thick back maile."

"Huh? I don't understand."

"I know you won't be comfortable to swing it as it is, but three layers of maile should be more than enough to make sure that an accidental tap won't wound you."

"Thank you. Thank you, Jon."

"You're welcome Sansa," Jon said as he resheathed Longclaw.

The rest of the day she spent helping organise the feast they'd have to celebrate the return of the Starks to Winterfell and the North.

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The last few Lords had arrived as they thought they would. The Lady Alys Karstark was there, though none of the Lords had talked to her, except Lyanna Mormont. She seemed to talk with her for an hour or two before the executions were to happen. What for he didn't know. But he knew that Lady Karstark hadn't brought more men than what she needed to protect herself. But he had an ill feeling about their meeting as if it would throw the world off of its axis again.

There were but a few minutes left till the executions. Sansa has been outfitted with her 'executions Corset' as she called it. But now it was just to wait.

The courtyard was filled with men and women of Winterfell, the Lords and Ladies of the realm. Mostly the Lords. No emissary from Greywater Watch, nor Barrowtown. But they were the only exception he'd caught so far, he'd have to ask Sansa and see if she'd noticed an exception that he didn't.

"People of Winterfell, Lords and Ladies of the North, and the Vale. We're here to Witness the end of the Tyranny of the Boltons. The end of, a rather short lived but still a rule of fear nonetheless." Sansa spoke to the gathered people.

"First up Harald Karstark, co-conspirator of Ramsay Bolton, commander of his Cavalry. From what we've heard from the staff here in Winterfell, he was also there when Ramsay killed his own father." Sansa continued as Harald was brought forward to the chopping block that was set on a dais that had been constructed that day.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Jon asked Harald as he was forced to kneel before the block.

"All I wanted was to bring back the good old days of the North."

"The good old days of the North you would have brought back, would have been the endless fights between the North and various rebellious houses. You would have helped bring the Bolton's back into a place far worse than they ever were before. It'd make the Night terrors seem like nothing, they'd have access to the entirety of the North. He'd flay anyone that even looked at him wrong." Jon told Harald, though his voice was strong enough to carry to those who stood closest.

Davos held the scabbard for him, and Jon pulled Longclaw out.

"In the name of Sansa of the house Stark, first of her name, Lady of the first men, Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North, I Jon Snow, sentence you to die!" Jon says moments before he raises Longclaw above his head and swings it down in one true arc. The same as he did with Slynt.

"Next, is Lady Melisandre, Red Priestess of Asshai." Sansa said as the guards brought her forward.

"Anything to say for yourself?" Jon asked as she knelt at the block.

She just looked at him curiously. "No, I've said my piece. Get it on with." She said before she laid her head on the block, she seemed to look trough the crowd. The walls, anywhere and everywhere.

Jon swung once. One head fell.

"And now, Petyr Baelish." Sansa said as she looked over to the guards that brought him forward.

"You can not do this. I am a Lord of the Vale, I am the Protector of the Eyrie. You can not execute me without a fair trial."

"You are in the North, Baelish, the Old Laws reign true here. All I can offer you is Trial by Combat."

"I'll be squashed sooner than a Martell fighting a Mountain."

"You've not seen who I'll name as my Champion." Jon said as he looked over to Davos who nodded to him and walked over to Baelish.

"And who is your champion? I thought you were too honour bound to let somebody else fight for you."

Jon simply stared at him.

"When will we begin then?" Baelish asked as he was given a sword and a dagger. He walked to the middle of the half circle that was cleared between the dais and the people.

His senses were higher than ever, the smell of metal clouded his sense of smell. The nervous shifting of a pair of feet could be heard as if it was happening right on top of him.

He walked out from beneath the dais with a silent growl. His eyes quickly finding his target. A man with short black hair, with grey stripes on the sides. He's wielding a short sword and a dagger.

Before he manages to do more than raise his weapons he's on the ground, the arm with the dagger broken and chewed open. His other arm is sufficiently broken when he bites it. One quick bite to the throat and he's bleeding out. He pads over to the dais and walks the step up it and sits down between himself and Sansa.

His eyes open once more and he can see Baelish dead. Looking to his side he sees that Ghost is as silent as always. A few splatters of blood from Baelish, but with the exception of that he was fine. He looks over the crowd, a few of the common folk seemed scared but the Lords of the North seemed intrigued. Especially the Lord of White Harbour. The Lords of the Vale seemed a bit split.

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They made Jon the King in the North. And considering the Vale Lords joined in, they could be part of the Northern Kingdoms. Sansa doubted it, though, the Vale lords were more than likely just caught up in the moment. While allied, she doubted they'd join.

They'd left rather early, Jon saying he needed sleep and she was not too fond of feasts anymore. Tormund and Davos didn't seem to mind. She was worried, though, Brienne and Podrick's letter had reached them after the battle. As had a letter meant for Ramsay Bolton telling him that Lord Frey was coming for a 'visit', and if he was not cordial then Jamie Lannister would come for a less than cordial visit as he had captured Riverrun. The first time the castle had fallen since Aegon's conquest.

They did not need the Vale to repel the Frey's. The Crannogmen would manage that on their own. It was nearly two days between Moat Cailin and the south of the Neck for a small party. For an army, she wagered it'd be about a sennight. More than enough time for the Crannogmen to assault their flanks and rear. Halt the baggage trains and such. With White Harbour troops stationed on Moat Cailin, she doubted it'd be breached shortly. Besides Umber, Karstark and Glover men, the men of White Harbour were probably some of the best infantrymen in the North. Or so she had been told by Robb once, she could not recall why he'd told her. He just had. The same way that the best cavalry in the North belonged to the Barrowlands under House Dustin, but the second best were from House Manderly. Manderly lands were the only land with worshippers of the Seven and such had actual anointed Knights amongst their ranks. But even so, there were more than a small portion of their men that wasn't knights.

But she did not know the specifics, even now she was barely involved with the Military matters. But it did not matter so much now. Now Jon had Wyman to council him, he had Robbet Glover to council him. And he had Yohn Royce to council him. She'd never heard of the Northmen being good commanders, but they were older than him and had fought in wars. Royce, she'd heard about almost as much as Arya, which was to say, she'd have to be knocked over the head to forget how brilliant his mind was in a campaign. The only ones that would have the potential of besting him was Tywin and Stannis. Maybe Robb would have managed it, it was considered general knowledge that Tywin was the best Commander in the Seven Kingdoms. But Robb hadn't lost a battle. The only reason he lost was because he was betrayed.

Her chamber was rather quiet. Not even Ghost's barely noticeable lulling. He'd left shortly after the execution and all Jon said was "He'll be back once he's gotten a meal." Which was odd, Ghost had a meal right there. And Tormund had taken him into the Godswood right after. No other guards, not even Davos. Actually, there were guards stationed at the entrances to the Godswood, wildlings, she believed. They'd dressed more as Northmen now. But still with their furs.

Jon sat in front of the fire and seemed smaller than she could ever recall him looking. Maybe except for when Mother got too angry at him too quickly. She'd changed into her night's dress before he entered and covered with a fur-lined robe.

"What happened earlier?" She asked him as she studied the scabbard of his sword. She saw her grandfather taking his seat as Lord of Winterfell with his wife and eldest son next to him. Brandon wouldn't have been more than five at the time. Maybe younger. After that it was the addition of Father, then Lyanna, then Benjen. Grandmother died, then a wildling attack that Grandfather helped fight off. Several things that did not mean much if anything to her. Until she saw Lyanna being given a crown of roses by a pretty man. Then she was carted off by the same man. And finally Grandfather and Brandon being killed in the Throne room.

"I'm a... I'm a Warg. I entered into Ghost's mind and executed Baelish that way."

"That was not an execution. It was a… I don't know what it was."

"I wouldn't risk Ghost, more than I had too. So, yes I went for his arms. The left hand to remove his ability to use his dagger. Then his right one because sooner or later he'd figure out how to wield a sword properly. Then I killed him."

Wargs were real? Was nothing from the myths and legends and fairy tales of the North just that, legends and myths and fairy tales?

"Oh." She knew it did not mean much, but she was getting worried. Was nothing of what she knew right? Did everything Old Nan ever mentioned actually exist?

"Jon, I know you want to stay here and protect me. But you need to sleep too, I can't imagine that it's too comfortable sleeping here. Go to bed and have a good nights sleep, you'll need it to handle all of the lords tomorrow."

"I won't leave you." He said as his eyed reluctantly left the fire and looked up at her.

"Then. Then sleep in my bed."

His eyes creased in thought "Then, where'd you sleep?"

"In my bed. You sleep on one side, and I'll sleep on the other."

"Oh… OK." He wasn't as resistant as she expected him to be, he seemed a lot more resistant to the idea of them marrying, so she sort of expected this to be a longer argument than him capitulating after one response.

"Come on, I know you can deal with the heat. But I'd rather not have more of my chambers have to deal with it." Sansa said as he helped Jon up to his feet and towards a dressing cover and left him there while she left for the bed. It didn't take him too long to walk over. Dressed only in his under tunic. She could see scars where he'd untied the strings near his neck. It was only two. She'd not seen them before, but from what she'd heard they'd only closed completely this last week. The healer would stay behind, as Jon was not too trusting of people anymore and as such would like a healer he'd trust nearby, just in case.

He'd barely laid down, one leg over the covers and furs alongside half of his upper body, and he was asleep. She'd not seen him fall asleep so fast before. She was the one that fell asleep first. Except once or twice while they were moving, she'd seen him fall asleep. Or she assumed that was what it was. Not the trance she'd seen this last sennight. Luckily, now his eyes were closed. He'd get a good nights rest, no matter how he viewed this.

It was almost inconceivable for it not to happen now. She… She almost could say that she loved him, but she was still not sure how. She knew how sibling love felt, or she hoped she did. She loved Robb, and Bran and Rickon as siblings, didn't she? She didn't just think them as family who owed her? She wasn't sure what love between a lord and a lady felt like. She was blinded by the title of 'Queen' with Joffrey. And with Tyrion they were more like she was with Jeyne. Good friends. She thought she could love Loras, he was so gallant and handsome. But wasn't Jon gallant and handsome as well? Yes, he had lighter skin and darker hair and darker eyes, but he was handsome and gallant nonetheless.

Sansa curled herself closer to him before she laid down for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny note here: Sorry for taking so long with posting this chapter. I reviewed the stories I'm working on and I saw that moving this one over to a weekly update was for the best. That way I could work a scene of each story every day and still have time to work on my grammar. That way I won't lagg behind on any story and still give you a good story. Hopefully, it's good at least :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varys hosts a meeting, Bronn gets a chest and Arya arrives in Winterfell.

The Redwyne and Dornish fleet had joined with the Targaryen fleet just a few days from Slavers bay, or the Bay of Dragons as it was now called.

The largest ship was designated as the command ship where all of the leaders would stay at. Though, as he had expected, Lady Tyrell kept enough of her things on her own ship so that she could leave relatively quickly.

But right now, was not such a time. For now was a council meeting. He had called it shortly after the fleets had joined. Sitting in the cabin that housed the large table, a few chairs and more wine than he'd ever cared to see. Luckily, this Queen was not a drunk. If so, this meeting would be nearly a waste.

"Why did you call this meeting Varys?" Tyrion asked shortly after they had taken their seats.

"I heard whispers of things that few even in Westeros would care about. Much less be significant enough for most of my birds to tell me. Luckily I have a handful that even without my presence kept things going. I am sorry to say, Lord Tyrion, an old friend of yours seem to have perished."

"Sansa? Did my sister get her hands on her?"

"Please, if she did she would have sung about it more than she sung about the ruin of my house." Olenna said as she looked between Tyrion and Varys.

"No, older. Mayhaps your oldest friend besides your brother."

"I can not say anybody comes to mind."

"A bastard dressed all in black."

"Jon Snow. How?"

"No!" A quiet voice said, the son of Baelon Greyjoy was indeed quiet. His sister looked at him as if he was an oddity. Though she did not do that to him. Whether it was because he was not family or that it had just not sunk in yet he did not know.

"A mutiny, he made a string of unliked decisions. He allowed Wildlings to cross the Wall. He even sacrificed men to allow more to do so. My birds tell of varying reasons, and even more varying outcomes of this mutiny. Some say he arose in the night and killed his betrayers.

Others say he awoke the next morning as if nothing had happened and that the loyal men of the Night's Watch had rounded up the Mutineers and they were killed that morning."

"Why this interest in a bastard in the service of the Night's Watch Varys?" Olenna asks as shrewdly as ever.

"I am not interested in him, not as much as I'm interested in what is unknown of him."

"Ned's bastard. The most prevailing theory as you yourself confirmed to me just a decade ago. His mother is Ashara."

"Forgive me, but at the time I just wanted as much speculation of it as possible to be stopped."

"What are you saying?" Tyrion asks. His mind most likely clicking trough possible pieces faster than the rest of them.

"Everyone knows that the second born Stark danced with Ashara quite often throughout the Tourney of Harrenhall. And more than a few know that they kissed at least a dozen times. But it is a wrong conclusion. If that were the case, Jon would be older than Robb which he is not. He is three moons younger."

…

"He is the son of Rheagar and Lyanna Targaryen."

"I have a nephew? Who was raised in the North?" Daenerys asks slowly, digesting the news. She would be the one to convince. Varys could already tell that Tyrion had conceded that it was a possibility.

"Yes, though as far as I know. He has ever only wished to be a Stark. So, the possibility of him fighting your claim is non-existent. In fact, I think this knowledge will aid him in removing himself from the line of succession."

"A matrilineal marriage?" Tyrion asks confusedly.

"Yes, to his cousin."

"Arya has been lost since her father lost his head. And as far as I can recall he never cared much for my Lady wife."

"He did not. But, he will protect what he can of the family he has left." Theon says, with a bit of vigour returning to him.

"He'll come to me and we'll settle it once and for all."

"My Lady, no offence, but the Northerners are weary of outsiders. That's the primary reason that I know so little of what goes on there. I do not have the spies to know what goes on in every keep. I barely have the men to know what goes on in the lands of the Manderly's. And what they tell me, is that they have not stopped raising their levies. They are preparing for war. The handful of spies I have in an around Winterfell tells me that the Bastard of Bolton is also raising his men for war. Your Lady wife was his for a while." Varys said though the last part was mostly directed to Tyrion, in a softer than usual voice.

"What a horrible husband I've been so far." Tyrion says in an attempt at a joke.

"Aren't them all. I still don't understand how mine managed to get his horse to walk off of a cliff." Olenna added with a look of glee on her face.

"Was there something that could aid us with taking Kings Landing?" Daenerys asks, rather obviously disinterested in everything they had been talking about until now. The exception being that she may have a nephew.

"Yes, I promised to never reveal this for as long as I lived. One of the few promises I've worked hard to keep. Cersei used wildfire to destroy the Sept of Baelor. Jaime Lannister will be our man on the inside."

"Jaime? He fucks her, why'd he side with us?" Olenna asks.

"He'll side with us because he does not like Wildfire. He's killed one King who'd planned to use it. How long until he kills a Queen who has?"

"My Father? Used wildfire?"

"Yes, at least he planned to. Have you heard about the tragedy of Summerhall?"

"No."

"Aegon the Fifth tried to awaken dragon eggs with wildfire. He thought he had it contained, but in fact, he ended up burning down the town."

"I think calling it a town is an overstatement." Olenna chimes in.

"Maybe, but the entirety of the Targaryen household and the court could stay there for entire summers without any issue. So, I do not see why it couldn't be called a town."

"Why didn't it work?"

"Nobody knows, though I'm sure the maesters would like to know that it involved wildfire. It was one of my first jobs for the Targaryens. Figure out what happened in Summerhall."

"Spent his entire life escaping his family, ended up falling into a form of their madness anyway." Tyrion muses.

Greyworm speaks for the first time. "Where will we land?"

"Good question. I was thinking either here near the Mossey Hook. Or here at Gulltown. Either one will work. Though Gulltown will offer more resistance, they will also allow us to disembark our horses and unload more in a shorter timespan." Tyrion says as he points at the Mossey Hook between the Crownlands and the Stormlands. And Gulltown at the mouth of Bay of Crabs.

"I will have to add my vote on Gull town, it is the best location. You will get the benefit of the Kings Road, a section of it that is fully maintained as well."

"Very well." Greyworm says.

"Anything more?" Tyrion asks as the rest of them got up.

"Yes… Lord Royce under the command of Littlefinger has rallied the Vale."

"I am assuming this is not to fight for or against my sister."

"No, they've gone North."

"Why? What does he have to gain in the North?"

"A beauty more beautiful than his childhood love."

Varys did not have to be a mind reader that both the Greyjoy and the Lannister just gave a silent prayer to the auburn Stark.

Varys knew that the youngest male Stark were alive according to his birds. He doubted he'd be before the armies met. And if he was, he would not be when the battle commenced.

"Now, that is all. At least all I have to share with you. I'll hear more when we take Gulltown I'm sure."

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He'd killed someone for attempting to do this once. He wasn't sure if he could do it again. Least of all to her. But, did he have a choice? These were the thoughts that mulled trough Jaime's head as he walked to his accommodations. Even now Cersei did not want him to share her bed. And he wasn't sure if he should be happy or sad about it. If she did, would she somehow manage to use him like Aerys used Rhaella?

Jaime entered his accommodations quickly. Not wanting to be out where anyone could see him. He had a reputation. But now that his main reason for being was gone, he was not sure what to do anymore. Perhaps his only choice now was to find the Targaryen girl and allow her to Carry out her justice on him. That or convince her that he wanted to regain his honour. But he doubted that'd work, he'd heard that Barristan had perished and he had no doubt filled her mind with the common view of him. The things he does for love, and loyalty. But mostly love.

Jaime hadn't meant to space out as he had closed the door. If there had been an intruder in his chambers he'd already been dead. Luckily the only one there was Bronn. And he was rather dependable, even if he wasn't too far off from an jumped up sellsword.

But if he were to be honest, Bronn had earned his knighthood more than he'd ever earned his own.

"You going to stand there and stare at me all day?" He asks with a grin on his face.

"No, that was not the idea," Jaime starts as he walks over to the table they'd shared these last two days as they broke their fasts. Currently, it's empty, he wasn't exactly his brother. He knew how to read, but it was not something he did for leisure. What did he do for leisure? Spend time with his siblings. And where are they now, one is halfway around the world. And the other is five hallways away, ignoring him.

"So, what's gotten you into such a mood then?"

"We need to leave the city. Before nightfall. Who of our men can we trust?"

"Less than a fifth I'd wager. The Queen's a Lannister too, and she outranks you."

"I want a third of those men we can trust ready to leave as soon as we're done with lunch."

"I'll see if I can light some wildfire under their asses then," Bronn said as he got up and headed to the door.

Both of them froze when they heard knocking on the door.

"Lord Jaime, is Ser Bronn with you? He did not seem to be in his chambers." Qyburn said in his usual soft, yet somehow commanding voice.

"Yes, he is here." Bronn himself said as he walked over and opened the door.

"Here. A package arrived from your betroth. I wish you happy fortunes with your upcoming wedding." Qyburn said before he left. Not a hint of his usual malice.

"A package? You must've really spun her around your finger."

"Aye, I have. Not sure why she'd send me a package, though. I was supposed to return after our trip to the Riverlands."

"Maybe she realised the situation's changed with my sister killing off or alienating half the nobles of the Crownlands and causing the Tyrells to stop the shipment of food once more."

"Well, when you put it like that," Bronn said as he sauntered over and placed the small chest on the table.

"It's locked." Bronn said after he tried to open it. Something about its design made Jaime look it over more closely. Normal everyday brown looking wood on the sides. The top, however, was black as night. The detailing on the sides was not that abnormal. If you didn't look at it from the right angle. Which he coincidentally was.

"That's because that's not truly for you," Jaime said as he removed a few stones from beneath his wardrobe and found a key with a spider design on it. The man did truly enjoy his nickname after all.

"Here. Should open it." Jaime said as he handed the key over.

"Right. Don't know how much it'll help me." Bronn said as he turned the chest to Jaime after he'd opened it.

Jaime noticed the dagger and the letter and he knew what it'd ask for without going further. But he had to know for sure.

_Jaime,_

_I know I swore to never reveal the real reason for why you killed Aerys, but I may reveal it in the days to come. We are coming with Fire and Blood, it is time to dig back the man Rheagar, Elia, Oberyn, Ser Lewyn, Ser Gerold,_ _Ser Arthur,_ _and Ser Oswell saw you capable of being once upon a time._

_The Spider_

Jaime couldn't say he was surprised. But it didn't mean it hurt to recall that he had failed so much that day. That year. And he had never tried to rebuff any of it. Not even to Oberyn. One of the few still open loyal Targaryen loyalist. Even to his last day.

"What does it say?"

"Lord Varys is calling in an old debt. We won't be leaving. We'll have to do our best to survive until the city is under siege. That may be our moment to strike."

"Hate to break it to yah, but Qyburn he has all of Varys' little birds."

"He does, doesn't he. Too bad I know who his local webmasters are, they'll have pulled them back in line after the Sept of Baelor. But I should seek out a few of them and make sure that they're ready."

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Arya found a farm a few days south of Winterfell, where she, Nymeria and a few others of the pack stayed, while the rest of the pack stayed not too far off within the woods. The one time she'd gone off towards the Kings Road she'd seen a column of men. White Harbour men, at least that's what their banners said. Highest amongst them were the merman of house Manderly.

What they talked of confused her. In White harbour, she'd heard that the Bolton's had taken over the North, and had held Sansa hostage. Meanwhile, Jon had died on the Wall but risen again. Few believed that, but the men who'd told them that didn't lie so they were inclined to believe them.

She herself was not so easy to convince. She'd halted in her movements when she'd heard that.

But now, now they were talking about the White Wolf's victory. Even if they had to begrudgingly give part of the credit to the men of the Vale. Why would the Vale help now? They didn't want her when her aunt had died. So why the change of heart now? It was not as if Robin and Jon were related. She could not even recall him herself, having never met him. So why would he help Jon?

Her thoughts were occupied as she trekked the last few miles to Winterfell on her own. Not even Nymeria as company. She'd given mercy to a girl that was probably the age she had been when she left Winterfell. She'd been sloppy with the waif, not caring about her usability for the House of Black and White. But this girl she'd prepared just the way she'd been thought there. Because she needed a face. And the girl was dying as it was, why not make her death matter?

Wintertown did not seem as badly damaged as she feared it would be. But, it still contained a feel of dread she thought she'd stop feeling after she left Westeros for Bravos. But this feeling was inescapable. No matter which of the exercises to remove emotions from her mind she used, that feeling was settled in her, settled in the air around her.

But she noticed that most people were gathered in Winterfell's courtyard.

As she walked around the people there she heard him. Jon. She could not suppress the slight grin that came over her face at that, not that she wanted to. Just hearing her big brother again gave her a sense of calm she hadn't felt since the Crossroad's Inn where she had to force Nymeria to leave.

He executed Harald Karstark, a co-conspirator of Ramsay Bolton. Then, the Red Woman. She promised they'd see each other again, but she had not truly believed her. Except now, now she did. And she did recognise her and held eye contact with her till Jon severed her head.

Then was the slimy one. She never liked him, he looked at Sansa weirdly.

When the executions were over most of the common folk left. But the lords stayed and entered into the Main Hall. A feast was being served, and most of the people of Winterfell were in attendance.

Arya had to think over every feast she could recall, and none of them were ever this full. Not even with the Royal Party. That scared her, but at the same time, it gave her a better cover. She just had to know that they were safe before she left. She'd thought it over, and why take an army to do that work of an assassin. The work of a faceless woman. That is, there is no point in doing so. She'd watch over them tonight, and maybe tomorrow. Then she'd leave. She'd kill all the Frey's she'd ever heard being a part of orchestrating that massacre. And any other of them that stood in her way.

But as she walked amongst the people she noticed him. Gendry. Why was he here? How was he still alive? She had to leave. As discretely as she could she left the hall only to go, on old instincts, to her chambers.

And there she sat in a half daze. Gendry was alive. Here, in Winterfell. Relatively noted as well as he sat next to Mikken, who while a servant was so noted amongst those in Winterfell that he sat amongst the squires, usually around the lords when there were lords there. Not that there were many squires. But, what were they called? Cup-bearers? No, that's definitely Southron. Uh, arming boy? Shieldbearer? Something like that. Or ward.

But why? While he knew he was a bastard, he didn't know, or at least he didn't say who his father was. So had he found out or was it something else.

As those thoughts reverted trough her head, she couldn't help but feel dread boil in her stomach when she heard the screams of "King of the North" Interspersed with "White Wolf" come from the Hall. She though Jon had earned it. But she had a feeling she wouldn't like it. Sansa had always wanted to be queen, and she had never minded that. Because she'd always have Jon. And now Sansa would get both.

It did not help when an hour later, she heard them walk to Sansa's chamber. At least she assumed it was hers now. Jon wouldn't have any need for that heat. He was of the North, not the South.

She thought he'd leave for sure. But as she noted that another hour had passed she realised he'd stay in there. She wanted to sleep, but she'd never slept on stone before. And even now she did not want to do that. So she left the Keep and found the stables.

There was a nook in there that Bran had shown her once. She did not particularly like climbing. But it was nowhere near Bran's usual heights. Part of her wanted to blame him for everything, but then she felt bad. He was only eight, and he'd never fallen before. She always heard her mother when she thought that "There's always a first time for everything, sweetling, even love." Though 'love' was usually replaced with climbing, though other times she said other things. Sometimes revenge. Other times Justice. Other times she did not even recall what she'd said. Only that she was there.

Her nest found and secured she uncurled a blanket over the hay and got herself some rest. Because she was not sure whether she'd go south or not now.

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The morning felt nice. That was all Jon could contemplate as he woke the next morning. He couldn't even call it being awake. He was aware, but he was not seeing anything. Nor where he that aware, as he would realise when he fully awoke. But it was a good morning, he was rested. More rested than he thought he'd ever been since the night that wight attacked Lord Commander Mormont. And ever since he'd felt some level of unease. More so when they went North of the Wall. Even more, when he joined with the wildings.

Though that unease was easily explainable, he was not truly with them. He'd always do his duty, but damn it, that was a hard choice to make. A girl who loved him. And he truly could fall for himself, given enough time. He was crushed when she died, as she was so perfect. It would not even be illegal, besides her being a Wildings of course. And him being a member of the Night's Watch. Beyond that, it was perfectly legal.

Gaining enough consciousness to open his eyes, Jon looked around and noted that he was in Winterfell. In a room that made him sweat more than he thought possible to do while still being in the North. And next to him was a girl with red hair, though he quickly noted that her hair was darker than Ygritt`s and not quite the shade of Lady Catelyn`s. Sansa, he realised as he brushed it behind her ear. She looked as rested as he felt. Maybe they both needed this, but it does not change that it's wrong. That they can not do what Lord Royce tells them too. Sighing he slid off of the bed and started getting dressed. He had no doubt that Mikken and Gendry were already halfway done with a crown that they already were planning to put on him tonight.

Even with that good night of sleep, he was still in shock of them nominating him as king, he still thought Sansa deserved to be the Stark in Winterfell, and the Wardeness and Queen of the North. She had done more than he could. He'd led the battle, as badly as it had gone. But she had secured them men, more than he'd ever thought conceivable when they'd left if he were, to be honest. And now, he had been given her title. It just felt wrong.

As he had gotten dressed he left Sansa's chamber for his own, luckily not being seen by a servant. It was oddly devoid of them. Even now he thought there should be more of them. But it seemed Winterfell had been running on a skeleton crew under the Boltons. It felt wrong to him, he may not have known too many of them well, but they were a part of the life at Winterfell that he'd gotten used to. Mayhaps even more so than Lady Catelyn's ice gaze.

In his own chamber, he got changed into a set of clothes. He'd almost stopped looking at them, they were mostly in the Northern style. Though here and there he'd notice something definitely, not Northern. But he thought it was just Sansa trying to take a bit of the south back home with her, without changing the way people dressed completely.

For instance, the jerkin of this outfit, and he knew it was an outfit as it was laid on top of each other, had it's leather stylised into that of a wolf's head. Not like the usual Stark banner. But as if it's head were coming out of it. Silver seemed to be lining it. Making it look like Ghost. Even red coloured leather patches made the eyes. Though the jerkin itself was black. Which made him thankful for that small mercy. Though the shirt was red. Somehow she found that red looked good on him. Personally, he did not think he could not disagree anymore if he tried. Black was his colour. Always had been.

As he closed in on the Main Hall a girl maybe twelve years old passed him and he could not help but look after her. Her presence felt familiar, not unlike Ghost returning from a hunt. But the feeling felt bigger. More noticeable. As if he did not figure this out, he should take a long dive into the reflection pool.

His thought muddled more than they were before, Jon entered the Hall to break his fast. He knew he maybe should have awoken Sansa. But he felt like she needed her sleep. And maybe a bit of privacy as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets a guest, and Jon gets a delivery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for clicking last week. I was wondering why there were no reviews or anything from AO3 :p my bad.

Arya passed Jon as she entered the keep. But her face held true as it always had. He didn't notice her, she was not sure if she should be proud or disappointed by it. He always knew when it was her. But now he didn't. And it's probably for the best, otherwise, he'd get in her way now.

She headed up to the Lady's chambers. Why was there even a need for it? Besides, Mother not managing the cold?

No reason. But that's where she headed and that's the door she's looking at now. Arya could not for the life of herself recall a time she'd sought out this chamber before. It was just so damned warm. She checked the halls and made sure they were clear before she entered.

There Sansa laid, curled in on herself. Much closer than she should have been if they were just friends. Not that they ever were, nor did she think him a brother.

Arya silently steps over to the bed before she drags Sansa out of it.

A quiet "What?" is all Sansa manages to get out before she sees Arya.

"You stole my brother."

"What are you talking about?" Sansa asks perplexedly.

"You. Stole. My. Brother." Arya says again, though this time, she followed it by removing the face.

"Arya?" Sansa asks as she looks up at her. "What do you mean?"

"You stole Jon. He arrived here last night, but he didn't leave." Arya says with an angry frown.

She can tell that Sansa is tearing up. She's seen it happen more times than she could honestly tell you that she'd ever care to admit.

"He has had trouble sleeping. I just wanted him to be able to rest." Was all Sansa got out before she started crying.

Was this girl the same one that's supposed to have survived Kings Landing for over a year on her own?

"All you ever did was call him half brother. Like you ever talked with him, knew what he liked or hated, like you ever cared for him. And I'd bet that the only reason you didn't call him a bastard, is because it's not 'proper' for a Lady to call somebody a bastard." Arya says before she rushes out of the chamber. It was hardly the way she expected it to go. But she could not say it was that unexpected.

Sansa always got everything. She got to do anything she wanted, although she could see why all she ever wanted was to be a lady. While Arya, she herself wanted to be an adventurer. A warrior. That was not what a Lady should do.

She wasn't too sure about how a meeting with Jon would go. Where should she go? The capital? Finish her list? Or somewhere else? She wanted to stay here. But could she manage to do that? Knowing that he finally chose her as well? She wasn't sure if she could manage that. She'd rather die attempting to kill the Queen than to do that.

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Jon still felt a bit off after the feeling he had out in the hall. But he chalked it up to being extra nervous over being crowned King of the North. And as he was just told by Yohn. Also King of the Vale, at least until Robin Arryn Come of Age in a few more years.

"Are you sure it's the right decision for the Lords of the Vale to make right now? You have been neutral throughout these wars so far. You may still have a chance to stay neutral until it's all over and done with."

"While staying Neutral it by no means a bad thing." Nestor says from his seat, across from his brother.

"We have too thick of a connection with the North and the Riverlands to stay out of this war. While most of the Vale still view the North as our natural enemy. House Royce remembers the old days. The days of Weirwoods and Children. We remember the Enemy." Yohn continues with a conviction that he did not think he'd hear from somebody that was not of the Free Folk or one of the men that bore witness to the Massacre at Hardhome.

"That's what those runes are for? I've heard the stories, odd how so many have perished while wearing them."

"Yes, well. They still work. But nowhere near as efficient as it is said that they were when used against Them."

"White Walkers. We call them White Walkers." Jon tells them.

"And speaking of which. As soon as time permits, I'll head south to Moat Cailin. There's something there that I need to find."

"What exactly?" Davos asks. He is a sharp man, even if he can not read fluently yet.

"I don't know. I got a vision or something. A three-eyed crow came to me while praying. It told me to go the last fortification of the Children and that there I'd find the last of his possessions."

"Crow? You're sure it wasn't a Raven?" Lyanna asked from a few seats down.

"I don't know. I was rather tired that night wasn't exactly paying attention."

"When was this Jon?" Davos asks.

"The night after the battle."

"If it was a Raven, odds are it was the 951st Lord Commander. Also known as Lord Brynden Rivers. The man is known for having a thousand and one eyes."

"Those are only stories made to discredit him, my lady." Yohn says courteously.

"The people of Bear Island does not fear shapeshifters or Wargs. Why should we fear the Children reincarnated in Men?"

"There may be few of us, but we've dealt with Wildlings more often than the Karstark, the Glovers, and the Umbers combined. Yet we did not hesitate to fight next to them."

"And you fought in the battle?" Glover asks from where he sits at the close edge of the table right ahead from Lyanna.

"If I were only born a few years earlier." Lyanna said in a faux whisper while looking at him. If his flinch was anything to go by, a straight look at somebody could be as intimidating as if she were looking at you in any other way.

"Did you hear anything from the Barrowlands or the Neck while you crossed their lands?" Jon asks of the Royce's.

"No, I only heard that Lord Reed was still secluded, even as his children has been gone for nearly a year he has not made a move, even as they were killed alongside the Stark children."

"Bran survived, as far as I know he is still North of the Wall. Odds are he is with them."

"What do you mean. North of the Wall?" Nestor asks.

"A friend of mine in the Night's Watch helped them pass trough the gate at the Night Fort. I was still pretending to be on the Wildlings side at the time, I heard about it two moons or so after."

"I have to interject, my Lord. From what I've been told in my letters. The Crannogmen at Moat Cailin is behaving rather admirably. No trouble at all." Wyman says with an easy grin in his face. From what he could recall, he was always easy to laugh.

"Thank you, lord Wyman." Jon says with a nod and a sigh. At least if there was a refusal to his rule he was rather sure it was limited to one region.

"If he is North of the Wall, then we need to send a search party. Within the Fortnight to get him back." Nestor insists.

"Even if we had the manpower. North of the wall is not only vast. It is inhospitable. And that is without the White Walkers or their weights. Right now, we have to make sure that our defences are as high as they can get. We'll convene a War Council tonight, during supper. All the Lords will be there if there are more Lords of a House. Then only the head of the House." Jon says as he gets up.

Jon starts to leave but a messenger. Based on his height and clothes, a Crannogman.

"I am sorry to be so late, Jon. But the Weather was not all that easy to traverse on my own." The man said. Jon could not say he remembered him. He looked to be in his late twenties. Maybe, it was sometimes hard to tell with them.

"Sorry, it's been a long time. It was shortly after the Ironborn rebellion. Your father took you and Robb and visited the Major houses of the North. My name is Rickard Blackmyre." He says before he gives a quick bow as he stops in front of the dais.

"I bring news from Lord Reed, news that I am to tell you, and only you." Rickard says as he stands there in front of the dais.

Jon looks over at Wyman, he recalled that Howland tended to visit White Harbour once in a while. And the encouraging nod he got from the man told him enough. At least he hoped that was the case.

"Lyanna, could you fetch my sister? It's not like her to sleep in. Bring her to the Solar." Jon asks. And he knows from the look on her face that she'll do it. But it'll cost him at some point.

"Ser Davos," Jon starts as he looks around the hall and spots Tormund and hails him to come to him as well.

"Stand guard out in the hall, don't let anyone but Lyanna and Sansa near." He tells them as they leave for the solar.

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As soon as they entered the Solar, Jon dashed over to the hearth and lit up a fire there as the servant he had was used to going up and doing it as soon as Jon had broken his fast. And as this was a somewhat secret meeting it would be odd to have his servant there to overhear it.

"Please take a seat," Jon tells Rickard as he takes a seat on the sofa, signalling to the chair sitting on the other side of a table that is in front of the hearth.

"You are most kind, Jon. King now, if what I heard in the Hall is to be believed."

"Aye, so they say. It happened last night after we executed the traitors."

Three rapid knocks on the door signal him that Sansa has arrived.

"Enter," He hesitates for a moment. "You too Lyanna."

The girls enter. As different as night and day. Lyanna wears her coat, cloak, breeches, shirt, and gorget as usual. Whereas Sansa wears a blue dress with grey detailing. But while Lyanna looks as she normally does, though he supposed there was a hint of doubt in her face. Sansa looked like she did not want to be there at all.

"I was told this was for Jon Snow and any and all Starks alone. No other House no matter how loyal was to see this." Rickard says as Sansa takes her seat next to Jon and Lyanna takes a chair over next to them and takes her seat.

She looks bored, but Jon knows she's faking it. He's learnt quite a few of her tells while they marched trough the Wolfs Wood.

"She's one of my most trusted advisor's. The other two are making sure we stay uninterrupted."

"Fine." The man says with a sigh as he rummages trough his satchel, digging up a handful of scrolls before he comes out with what seems like a thousand sheaves of parchment bound together within a hundred other sheaves of parchment.

"Lord Howland wanted to make sure they did not suffer any more damage than they did when he was tasked with safeguarding them." Rickard says when he notes their looks of shock. A quick look to Sansa and Lyanna and he sees that they are shocked as well.

The scrolls have what can only be assumed to be the remains of Targaryen seals on them. But upon them are the seals of House Stark, Reed, Mormont, and Tully.

"What are they?" Jon asks as he feels his voice return to himself.

"These are the documents that Howland spent the first few years after the war looking for. For your father. What for, I do not know."

"Why didn't Lord Howland bring them here himself?" Lyanna asks swiftly as her voice returned to her.

"Lady Jyanna has been ill these last five years. And the years before that he has spent reconciling with the houses of the Neck that had issues with his long times of absence, not just outside the Neck. But outside the North. As well as spending time with his children."

Jon nodded at that, it made sense to him that Howland had reasons for staying away. And it was logical reasoning.

"If there's nothing else, I'll have an early lunch and then I'll rest. If there's anything, let me know and I'll carry a message back to Lord Howland for you."

"Aye, we will. Thank you." Jon says as he grabs the five scrolls that were grouped together. They had old Targaryen, Targaryen bent with Martell and with Stark on it.

As he opened them he realised they were letters. Letters sent between Elia Martell and Lyanna and Rheagar.

They detailed Elias horrification of Aerys madness at killing not just Brandon, but Rickard as well. Two Starks were killed that day. But not just them. Brandon's companions as well as Rickards companions. Almost two dozen Northmen all in all, even if no other region rose up. The North would and the odds were with the disappearance of Lyanna with no notion of their note, that the Stormlands would rise as well. And with them the Vale and the Riverlands. They got their rebellion, but not how they planned it.

Without even seeing any reference to him in the letters, Jon had a feeling that Baelish had a play at that note disappearing.

Jon pulled forward the parchment and opened it, breaking the three seals and pulled out five of the topmost sheaves of parchment.

The first one was a marriage contract between Lyanna and Rheagar. Witnessed by Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Oswell Whent. But he noted that there was no witness listed for the bride. Though as it was noted to be done on the Isle of Faces, he had to question if it was a kidnapping. Especially when compounded with what he read from the scrolls. Although it could have been done on the Isle of Faces as a mercy to Lyanna and Elia's horrification could be the acts in and of themselves as they were quite gruesome.

The next one was the dowry Rheagar would pay once the rebellion was over. Five construction projects that Rickard Stark had planned would be paid by the Crown in addition to the reconstruction of the First Keep. Jon noted that all of these things were things Father had talked about doing at one time or another, but the treasury was never that full, and all the other things that were a lot closer to home made it all that much more difficult to accomplish.

He folded over to the next sheave and saw the Rheagar's line of Inheritance. Rheanys - Jaehaerys. Then Aegon.

"Who's Jaehaerys?" Jon asks as he looks at it, as there was no date listed. Only a year he thought maybe Elia was pregnant during the sacking.

"Considering Lyanna was with him for so long. Maybe she was pregnant?" Sansa asks.

Jon had to concede that it was possible. Though the thought troubled him.

"Jaehaerys was known as a Conciliator, Wise and Old King and a Good King. Of all the Targaryen names, that is one of the few that is not associated with madness, instead, it is only associated with stability and prosperity. A fulfilment of the Pact of Ice and Fire would lead to such a level of stability." Lyanna says from her seat.

Both Jon and Sansa turns to her in question.

"Don't you Starks know anything of your own history? The Pact of Ice and Fire was made during the Dance of the Dragons. In it, the Queen promised the Starks that a princess would marry the Starks. I think a deepening of the pact was meant to raise the culturally separated North to a similar level as Dorne and make the Wardens of the North Prince's and thus more adequate marriage proposal for the Targaryens in general." Lyanna elaborated for them with a scowl on her face.

Jon thinks that he does not need to be a mind reader to realise that she's screaming at them internally.

"Right. But how does this have anything to do with us?" Jon asks as he pulls the last two sheaves forward. The first of the two lists a bunch of houses, even having their seals on the paper. All of the major houses, sans Baratheon, is on it, in addition quite, a few notable houses were there as well alongside a handful of the minor houses, though as they were of the Crownlands that would not be saying much.

On the second one were a list of agreements. All of it seemed unimportant to Jon with the exception of a few.

_Daughter of House Stark to wed Crown Prince of Dragonstone, Rheagar Targaryen as a second wife._

_Heir Stark to wed Firstborn Daughter of House Tully._

_Second born son of House Stark to wed Firstborn Daughter of House Dayne._

_Heir of House Lannister to wed the second born daughter of house Tully._

_An annotation was written under this in a hurried scratchy hand: Jond KG, ethr sec hunrble rmval or renegotitate._

_Jon was not sure what that meant, but he thought it had to do with Jaime. The King Slayer. What was this? It all seemed so weird._

_Another annotation was written under it in a more calmly manner:_

_Second born daughter married to Lord Arryn, Lions are likely to be on the prowl._

_Firstborn Lannister is loyal, will attempt to find a suitable marriage proposal to him when the war is over._

"This is, this was. An agreement for a Great Council." Jon says in realisation as he looks at Sansa.

"Seems that way. Most of the Houses they'd need to overthrow Aerys is there. Tywin would have joined after he was insulted by Aerys one time too many. I don't see why the Baratheons wouldn't have joined, though."

"Robert was Lord Baratheon at the time this was started. His parents died shortly after he left for the Eyrie."

"Oh. But, why not at least try?"

"Because he already had at least a handful of bastards that he knew about? I think he might have wanted Lyanna because it would strengthen his bond with Father. But not at all because of her, maybe he thought she looked good. I don't know, considering Father always compared Arya to her, I just think it'd mean that she wouldn't just marry anyone."

"You think she let Rheagar kidnap her?"

"In the letters, they talk of a note left in her chamber. But never mentioned when they arrived at the Red Keep? I think there's a piece that was removed from the board. That stacked everything against the Stark that was in Riverrun at the time."

"Brandon. If he didn't find even a note, then he would have reason to believe it was a kidnapping."

"Right, especially if a whimpering fool were to say that he saw them but was too afraid to yell out in fear of his own life."

"You think Baelish have been playing our family all of this time?"

"He fancied your Mother? Did he not? What better way to remove an enemy he's failed to get rid of than to get him to accuse the Crown Prince of kidnapping his sister?"

"I don't know," Sansa mutters as she holds around her middle in what seems like fright. Jon gently sidles his hand behind her and cup her waist as he pulls her close. He has a feeling that she's rethinking every encounter she's had with the man.

"There's still hundreds of sheaves left." Lyanna mummers from her seat next to them and he has to chuckle, that just sounded like Arya's indignation of sewing lessons.

"Fetch Ser Davos and Tormund and we'll try to get trough as much as we can before lunch. Maybe I'll have time to teach you a bit afterwards." Jon says with a dry chuckle.

Her, rather, happy demeanour just showed him that she had more than a single facade to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before I forget, again. Anybody else realises that instead of Team Mereen or Team Dany, it's Team Terrible Fathers? Except Olenna, but eh it's possible.  
> PS: I figured out part way trough going over this chapter that Grammarly can be told what language to default to. Yay, though it still tells me to fix my dialogue punctuation :/ In my head unless you're adding a piece of action/description in between pieces of dialogue then you should always end with a period, not a comma.
> 
> Also, sorry for being two hours-ish late with this update. Summer and house renovations and stuff take a bit of my time here and there.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Meera talks, Jon freaks out and hosts a meeting. Varys talks with Tyrion. And Jon freaks out some more.

"The sun's setting. We need to make camp." Meera says half a days ride south of what used to be Moles Town.

"Alright." Bran says as he looks around. It was not the best solution in the world, but it was better than the sleigh. He could at least look where they were going now, but he wished he had his own saddle. That way he could be riding his own horse. But Meera was kind, kind enough to not simply tie him over the back of the horse at least. But there had been moments where he'd had to hold on for his life lest he'd fall off.

They quickly chose a spot a handful of stone throws off of the Kings Road. It had a hill overwrought with tree's above it and a small forest between them and the road. That way they were at least not likely to be spotted.

"Bran, please tell me this time." Meera says as she slides off of the horse before she ties it's reins around a thick root.

Meera walks over and helps Bran down.

"I suppose I can't keep it off forever. I just wish that I could understand it myself first."

"What was it?" Meera asks as she lights the fire.

"I was at the Tower of Joy, when our fathers were there." He says, trying to gauge her reaction.

"And?" She asks as she takes the saddlebags off the horse.

"My Father found Aunt Lyanna as he said he did. But, she had given birth either during the fight. Or shortly before. I think it may be Jon, he wasn't a bastard. It was just safer if people thought he was."

"He would still be a bastard. Just a bastard of a Targaryen and a Stark."

Bran shakes his head. "No, the Targaryen's used to have multiple wives. All we were thought by Maester Luwin. Was that he wanted to remake the Targaryen Dynasty and make it stronger somehow. What better way to do that than to strengthen the Pact of Ice and Fire? And put the North and House Stark on a pillar similar to Dorne and House Martell?"

Meera was quiet for a moment. "I suppose that makes Father's actions more forgivable. Not by much. But some." She says quietly as she pulls the fur out onto the ground and helps Bran onto them.

"Once we reach White Harbour, we're not leaving the chamber they give us for a sennight." Meera says as she pulls the rest of the furs over them.

Bran grins weakly. Benjen had said to go home, but he was not sure where that was now. Had he meant his home at Castle Black? They'd warned the Brother's of the Night's Watch there, but it was not like it seemed like they had enough men to defend even that castle properly. They'd need the entirety of the North to defend them. And good luck on getting the Mountain Clansmen to help with that. Maybe if they got the Flints and a few others to do so. But the rest would be harder to convince.

With the thoughts of home, and the wall Bran fell asleep half curled into Meera.

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Jon felt speechless as they'd laid out the pieces of parchment across the table. It was all there. An agreement that was made between many of the houses, the Marriage certification that was signed by the Septon from Harrenhall. Then there was the fact that he was born almost to the day 12 and a half moons after the war started. And Rheagar had joined first five moons after the war started. More than enough time for him to make sure that Aunt... Lyanna was pregnant.

He was of Fath... Uncle Ned's blood. Just not the way he imagined. But he also shared blood with the family that had torn his own to shreds. But it made sense, didn't it? The Raven had said 'Son of Ice and Fire', hadn't he? In that regards it made sense.

"Well, this complicates things." Davos says from his seat next to Lady Mormont.

"How? He is a true born son of Lyanna Stark and Rheagar Targaryen, he is as much a Stark as a Targaryen. And he was raised here, in Winterfell. As I imagined the messenger said, this won't leave this room." Lyanna said as she gazed over them. But Jon felt lost to the world around him, he was awake, fully awake, but he felt like it was like his nights. Only he was drenched in the coldest of waters.

"What does it matter. He's the same man as he was before. Just because his mama and papa changed doesn't change who he is." Tormund says from where he sits almost at the door.

"The Seven Kingdoms is not as simple as it is for you. Especially not when you're part of the sphere of noblemen. Then it becomes a lot more hectic. Jon was a bastard, a half class if you will. They are part of the noble men's class, but they are frowned upon in some instances worse than horse shit. But they do not have the relativity simple life of the small folk as they are still part of the noble men's sphere. At the end of the day, we'll just have to take our time with figuring out how to break this to the Lords of the North and the Vale."

"It'll have to happen later." Jon says as he gets out of his daze and gets up.

"Why?" Sansa asks.

"It'll just have to." Jon tries to say, but he's not sure if he truly said it as he hurriedly left the room.

Before long he found himself in the Godswood before the Hart tree.

Quietly he sagged down onto his knees and tried to pray. But for what? For this to leave? For them to find something that contradicts it entirely? He wanted to belong. That was all he ever wanted. And now this. This will almost assuredly make him more of an outsider than anything else. Why did the Gods hate him so? If he could just have something that could make this all worth it, that could make him reconsider. But he was almost sure he'd leave again. Do something.

Jon's not sure how long he's sat there. But he knows that he's been there long enough when he notice that outside of the branches of the heart tree, the snow's grown tall enough to reach his knees.

Going back to the keep he swiftly joined in on the War Council he had convened. The Lords of the North and the Vale was there. In some instances, a lady was there instead. Lady Mormont, Lady Karstark and Lady Waynwood for instance. Lord Nestor Royce was there as well as a direct representative of Lord Robin.

"Well, we seem to be all here." Jon said as he looked up and down the tables that had been set up on the cleared out ground floor of the Old Keep. Guards from Houses Stark and Mormont as well as Wildlings guarded it. They would not be leaving before dawn unless they came to an agreement.

In additions to the Houses, there were a handful of Wildling representatives there as well.

"First of all, we need to send the people we can spare to aid in repairing the castles along the wall. The Night Fort, Castle Black, Eastwatch-by-the-sea, Westwatch-by-the-bridge, and the Shadow Tower first amongst them. The Queensgate, Oakenshield, Rimgate and Greenguard. Then the rest after. Once that is done we need to men to guard it. We have now just shy of twenty thousand Northmen. And thirty thousand Valemen to defend the Wall. At its height it had about fifty thousand to defend it, let's hope that's enough. But first, us Northmen need to settle something. The Wildlings, as long as the Lord Commander agrees, will be given the New Gift to farm and settle in."

One. Two. Three. Four. The noises that exploded from the Glover, and a few other lords of the region made him think his ears had ruptured.

"I know it is not something that will be easy. But we need them. There may not be many of their fighters left. But can you tell me that they don't deserve it? Why should they suffer because they want to get south of the wall? What separated them from us besides being born on the wrong side of the wall? They are the blood of the First men same as us. What gives us the right to decide who's worthy of something?" Jon says as he looks over the Northernmost lords that he recalls having fought wildling raiders the most, as well as a quick look over at the wildling leaders.

"I propose to give them an agreement not unlike what the mountain clans are tied to us by. As long as it does not interfere with other northerners. Only their own, then they can keep their old ways to an extent. And this is something I'll try to get the clansmen to do as well, have a keep. That way we can communicate easier. Though for now, there will be few letters going north because of the winter."

"Nothing much ey? You drive a hard bargain Snow. So what keep is it I'll make then." Tormund asks humorously.

"I don't know, how about Ruddy Keep."

"Don't you perverse Mama's house by calling it a keep." Tormund bellows quickly.

"Name it whatever you want to Tormund. I doubt that we'll care too much." Jon says as that discussion seems to be laid aside for now.

"Now are there any issues on any of your lands?" Jon asks to move along.

"None." Or "no" I the most common reply. From Alys, on the other hand, there is another. "My Uncle still lives. The Karstarks won't truly join you as long as he lives." She says from her seat.

"We'll figure out a solution my Lady. But he can not fight the entire North on his own." Jon says, though a niggle of doubt is still there about the Barrowlands.

"I doubt he works alone, he's likely to be working with Lady Dustin as well." He sees in her eyes that she is not truly his friend, she just views him as the lesser of two evils.

"Your brother led her cavalry, I do not know if she had any more men in the battle. But at least she's missing a couple of hundred horses. Once we've taken a stock of the situation we'll figure out what to do from there."

The discussion went on for a long time. Though he was not sure, he thought it had passed midnight by the time they left.

He joined Sansa in her bed again. Even if he was fervent that he'd at least sleep in his own bed, but alas that was not to be tonight either. All he was thankful for was that meant his mind would rest as much as his body.

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"So, how long did you know?"

"Since before he was born." Varys replied from where he leant on the bulwark.

"And how did you come to know of his coming birth?"

"I was the one that made those deals, as best as I could." Varys said as he turned to face Tyrion.

"And?"

"It was a long few years. Little did I know, longer years would come to me."

"If you knew, why did we go all this way?"

"We needed Dragons. The thing that Westeros bowed to the first time around."

"Bowed? This is about the Northmen, isn't it? They're the only ones that truly bent the knee. Mayhaps beside the Vale."

"Yes, that's where the idea came to me. The Northman representative voiced that he wondered what the South could do to stop them from leaving the Kingdoms. If Rheagar wasn't in such a troubling mood when I told him, I think he might have cried when he heard."

"What do you mean, troubling mood?"

"Rheagar was a good study from a young age. But, the reason he became so is not common knowledge. I forget who, but someone told him that a true and good Targaryen could only come about when they had a purpose beyond one's self. That's what he worked on for all of those years. A purpose, a purpose that made him see that his father was not fit to rule. At all. So, the Great Council came about. But Aerys caught wind about it from someone I and a few other lords thought trustworthy. And the rest, is, as they say, history."

"You brokered deals. But how does that relate to Jon Snow? Or Rheagar's moods."

"Lyanna Stark was to marry Rheagar Targaryen to make the Pact of Ice and Fire be strengthened. The idea was for either Rhaenys or the next Targaryen princess to be born to be married to a Stark Prince. As for his moods, when he thought the madness crept in, he hid. It took me eight years to figure out where."

"You planned to raise them up to a status, not unlike the Martells?"

"Yes."

"Why? If so, then why not the Baratheons? They've married the Targaryens since the conquest."

"Because the Starks and the North are as culturally separate from us south of the Neck, as Dorne is from those north of the Marshes."

"That. Is a good point actually." He could see the wheels turning in his friend's mind. He realises that it was far from a kidnapping, and far from something that should have started a war, a disagreement to be sure. But not a war.

That was the idea behind it. Give the lords at whole a reason to dismiss the payment that the Targaryen made to the Starks as nothing more than repayment for marrying ones betroth without a witness from her family.

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Upon waking up Jon hurries to his own chamber. There he quickly packed his satchel and a pair of saddle bags. All black and grey this time. No red. Then he added a dagger to his sword belt before he took another dagger he had and put it between the belt and himself. His satchel in hand and the saddlebags over his shoulder, he returned to Sansa's chamber.

Upon entering it seemed as if she'd awakened shortly after he left.

"Hey." He said slowly as he entered. "No news about them?" He asked as he took a chair opposite her in front of the fire.

"None. They could have died there, Jon." Sansa says as she looks at him.

"Doubtful, even Yohn said that the only death they heard about at Riverun was your granduncle. They'll return."

"That doesn't exactly make it better." She says, though there was no venom in it at all. If it was it was directed at herself.

"Sansa. I'm leaving, for a while. I have to check on Moat Cailin and who knows what'll happen while I'm there. I want you to stay safe." Jon said as he handed her his dagger. Robb had given it to him when he was fourteen. It was rather long, but not to the point where it was impossible to wield it.

"I'm not. I'm not Arya." Sansa says as she accepts it.

"No. But I know you can manage it, Sansa. Now, go for the neck, there's usually an opening there. If not then the elbows and the knees are places that are rarely if ever armoured."

"Why did you do it. Why did you serve me instead of going off doing whatever it was you planned on doing before I arrived."

"I couldn't…" Jon shuts his eyes tightly before he continues. "I couldn't let the family I had left be alone." Jon says slowly before he nods at her and leaves.

Sansa was a good girl, suppose she is a woman now whether she wants to or not. He quickly finds the Bronze Yohn's brother, Nestor who've taken up as the master of arms at Winterfell for the duration of his stay.

"How many men are fully trained and trustworthy?" Jon asked without preamble when he found him at a training yard he set up within the old kennels.

"About fifty of them by now. Not too many recruits, nor too much equipment. Though that new smith you found seem to help that old man get it moving on that front."

"Fifty men are more than enough, Assign the ten you trust the most to guard Sansa in rotating shifts of two. Have them change at meal times and then I'll take the next twenty with me to Moat Cailin."

"What will you be doing there?" Nestor asks.

"Check over the repairs that are being done and try to get a lay of the land to make sure that we're ready to fight the Frey's when they arrive."

"Very well, I'll get your men to prepare then." Nestor says as he goes to one of the barracks.

Jon quickly gets started with gathering the supplies they'll need on the road to Moat Cailin and then a stay there and hen for the journey back.

A serving girl accompanies him from the kitchens and attaches herself to their party. While Jon did not find it all that prudent, especially in this weather. He did not feel as if it could do too much harm it was not as if they were heading North.

His men were readying their horses amidst a handful of Vale lords and their escorts as well as the Manderly's and their bannermen as well as their escorts.

While his men prepared he went into the Godswood and found Ghost lying near the Hart tree.

"Hello, Ghost." Jon said as he knelt next to him. The dire wolf rose slowly and licked his face once when he was at full height.

"I need you to stay Ghost. Protect Sansa, even if she doesn't want it." Jon got another lick for his troubles before he was even done talking.

"I'll take that as a yes." Jon said as he hoisted himself back onto his feet.

Back in the courtyard, he sees that most of the Lords are already gathering themselves to their return journey.

"Lord Manderly." Jon said as he saw him there readying his escort and making sure that he and his men had all they needed for the return journey.

"Your Grace." He said rather happily. "Is there something I can help you with before my departure." He added quizzically as Jon stood there.

"No, but I was wondering if I could join you part of the way. I'd like to see how things are going at Moat Cailin."

"Sure, sure. I and my men were going to travel with the Vale lords to where our roads split anyway. The more the merrier!" He says boisterously.

He could recall that he was a kind man, easy with a laugh so it was not that odd that he grinned back to him.

"I'll be glad for it, Lord Wyman." Jon said softly as he nodded to him. The man truly had changed since last he'd seen him. He was nowhere near as fat as he used to be. The war and the loss of his sons must've hit him hard. He doubted that it was only work in the yard that'd made that change. It must've involved starvation as well. From what he'd heard, it was not an uncommon thing for those that followed the Seven to do when in distress or when they doubted their faith.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon travels, Jaime meets a man and Jon seeks.

They’ve reached the crossroad of the White Road, and the Kingsroad. Jon looks to the South East where the Manderly’s are heading now that they’ve broken their fast. It had only taken them a quarter of a sennight to get here, all of them rather weary to even be close to the border of the Barrowlands. But so far they’ve not even seen a single barrowlander. 

 

“It’s only taken us two days so far. Should at most not be more than three more, unless a snowstorm comes.” Yohn says from where he’d already mounted his horse.

 

“Aye, let’s hope one doesn’t come yet.” Jon says as he climbs on top of his own horse’s saddle.

 

He looked close around the small Stark contingent. And the serving girl, while friendly. Did not seem to be bothered by the men. Though the men seemed to have bruises that they didn’t want to explain, at least that was what he thought as none of them had asked for one of the camp aide’s or Maester’s of the Vale for help.

 

“So, once we’ve engaged the Frey’s you’ll attack the Twins. How successful do you think that’ll be?” Jon asked as they rode ahead of the column.

 

“Hard to tell, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it’s fallen. But it’s defences are not that great. Cut off supplies from the other side and you’ve almost won already.”

 

“And we don’t have the men to do that.”

 

“I think we do. We don’t need more than an entrenchment on the other side. The trouble will be getting them there. We don’t have the time to send them south to cross the river there. But we don’t have the barges to cross the river either.”

 

“What do we do then?” Jon asked exasperatedly. This was not what they needed. They had to get the Twins to surrender quickly.

 

“I think if we can cut enough trees quickly enough. We may be able to make a bridge. Of sorts.”

 

“It’s a big river from what I’ve heard.”

 

“Aye, it is. But there’s plenty of big trees to cut.”

 

“Say that you manage to do it. How long will it hold?”

 

“Let’s just pray it does. Otherwise, I’m out of ideas. I sent words last night for our levies to be raised. Hopefully, my Son has whipped them up before I get home.”

 

“Just your levies?”

 

“For now, I have been one of the few that have been training my men. The rest of the lords started to train theirs before we went North. So yes, just mine. It’s almost five thousand. Should be more than enough for the Frey’s to keel over for.”

 

Jon looked over to him and was not at all impressed.

 

“Besides, two-thirds of the Knights of the Vale is coming south as well.”

 

“But not now, they’ll be joining you when you lay siege to the Eastern castle.”

 

“True. But we’ll figure something out. That’s what separates a Strategist from a commander. The Strategist can lay out as many strategies as he wants, but it’s up to the commander to figure out when they are to be implemented. And when to change them because the terrain is not how we expected it to be and so on.”

 

Later that day when they set down camp for the night he felt that he had to see the serving girl. Make sure that the men were not bothering her.

 

She shared a tent with the camp aides of the Valemen. And as such was hard to get to if she wanted to be. But she was working, or she was sleeping. At least that was the way he’d always seen it.

 

But tonight he’d asked her to come with him to his tent for a quick talk as soon as she was done making the food. He’d taken two bowls of food with him, and told her to get them two mugs of ale. It was nowhere near as strong as what he’d gotten used to, but it kept warm enough for a journey as well as not making one a drunken fool all that easily.

 

She entered his tent and he noticed her eyes seemed to scan it. It was not all that much to look at. He didn’t bring anything that did not serve a purpose. A simple campaign table, two chairs, a bed with more furs than he’d ever need, and some winter furs to cover the ground of the tent.

 

“Please. Take a seat.” Jon gestured to a chair for her to sit on.

 

“What does Mi’lord want?” She asked shyly.

 

“I just wanted to ask you if the men have tried to be… untoward with you.”

 

“They tried, they failed.” She said with the glimmer of a smile on her face. Jon couldn’t help but think that it seemed familiar in some way.

 

“Good. Should teach them a lesson.” Jon said with a nod. “But come to me, if it gets worse.” He added seriously. He’d expected it to happen, Fat… Uncle, always said it was one of the things that easily disgusted him the most of his responsibilities as a liege lord.

 

“Thank you, Mi’lord, but you should hardly trouble yourself…”

 

“They are my men, their actions reflect upon me. If they behave badly, that means I have not trained them good enough. So, knock them black and blue till they realise what they’re supposed to be doing for all I care.” Jon said with a ghost of a smile.

 

Her shy smile before came back somewhat more powerful. And it just seemed such an innocent, yet dangerous smile. He could not help, but wonder where he’d seen it before. He thought she seemed to be the age Arya was the last time he’d seen her.

 

They ate their meal in a tentative quiet as they talked some more of his unruly men.

 

By the time he went to bed he could only pray that the Crannogmen and the Manderly men at Moat Cailin were not as unruly. He thought that Wyman had his cousin was in charge there. So, hopefully, he’d manage to instil some more discipline in them before long.

 

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Jaime found Bronn in the lower levels of the Keep where the Targaryen relics that were not destroyed or re-purposed were kept. 

 

“A lot of interesting stuff down here.” The man said as he looked around the room. The dragon skulls were just a level lower.

 

“Yes, it is.” Jaime said as he looked over some of the things he could recall being in Rheanys bedchamber as well as Rheagar and Ellia’s. He’d never dared spend more time in the King and Queen’s chamber than he absolutely had to. He should never have allowed Barristan to dissuade him back then. It would have saved the kingdoms a lot.

 

There were few things here that he could not say he was at least passingly familiar with. Just behind him were one of Rheagar’s bookcases. He had several in his private solar, most of the books were distributed between the rebelling lords, though some variation of half of those books had made it into Tyrion’s private library at Casterly Rook or at the Red Keeps public library. Robert might have been a fine warrior once upon a time. But he was not an avid reader.

 

“Why meet down here?”

 

“No offence Bronn, but I’m wondering why I should trust you.”

 

“I haven’t killed you so far.”

 

“No you have not, but who’s to say that you wouldn’t wait until just before I was to arrest Cersei to do so?”

 

“I liked your brother, and I rarely like people. He asked me to help you train with your left hand, and now I sorta like you. Never liked your sister.”

 

“Well, that is good enough I suppose.” Jaime said tiredly. Gods this has been a hell of a sennight. There’s nothing he’d rather do than sit down here and let the world wash away. A dry chuckle escaped him then.

This was after all the place she’d found him the first time they did it. She never asked why he was there. Probably didn’t care. 

 

“So, what now?”

 

“Now, I’ll have to find one of Varys Webmasters.” Jaime says as he goes towards the back. A closet, the clothes inside while once well made, were now falling apart, but still noticeable that it once belonged to Royalty. True Royalty, he couldn’t help but think. 

 

Jaime took off his doublet and shirt and his boots. Bronn sighing in a rather overly done manner before he helped him with his boots.

 

“What’s the reason for this, then?”

 

“I wouldn’t exactly blend in wearing the finest clothing Lannister gold can buy, can I?”

 

“Suppose not.”

 

Jaime took out a tunic and jerkin that Rheagar had worn on one of his trips to Summer Hall. Purple and black being the primary colours, but the details being done in red.

 

“And what about me?” Bronn asks when Jaime had dressed and hidden a dagger under the jerkin.

 

“Stay down here and wait until I return. I’m sure whoever I meet will be more than a bit hesitant with me as it is. No reason to make it more so.”

 

“And if somebody comes looking?”

 

“Hide.”

 

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Jaime found himself near the ruined Sept. So this was what One of his Caches would do. What would happen if the rest of them were ignited?

 

The destruction of all notable sites and all of the inhabited locations in the city was the most likely idea.

 

He wandered around until he found a row of nearby buildings that were destroyed as well. With the exception of pieces of the sept blowing in very direction, the destruction seemed rather contained so it intrigued him. What made that row of buildings be torn apart. 

 

Coming closer he noticed that the there seemed to be a tunnel there. Or was it just his mind that told him that there was supposed to be an entry point to the tunnels beneath the city here?

 

At any rate, Jaime shifted some of the rocks and bricks around until he found an entryway to the tunnels.

 

Down there it was dark. But he was not unused to it. The further he walked, the more his eyes adapted to it. He could have sworn that he was familiar with this specific tunnel. But all thoughts of that went away when he saw the hallway that had obviously been the originating point of the Wildfire blast.

 

With just a few more steps, he found a corpse. Hard to tell whose, it was barely even bones anymore. If he didn’t know from before. He knew now. He’d never forget those dozen Northmen being burned a few days before Aery’s Mock trial of the Starks.

 

“Ser Jaime.” A voice said behind him. Neutral, not unlike the Spider.

 

Jaime turned around and looked at the man. He was maybe a head shorter than himself. Thinner, but not in an unhealthy way, at least he thought so. He was dressed in clothes that seemed a mix of the Spiders’ and the Sparrows.

 

“You’re one of Kings Landings Webmasters I assume?” Jaime asks before anything else.

 

“Yes. This was unfortunate… She moved quicker than We thought she would. When the Younglings moved they did so quickly, and without consulting Us. They’ve been… Dealt with.”

 

“What is the plan.” Jaime asks as he shows him the dagger.

 

“We’ve heard that the Queen will take Dragonstone, and that the Hand will take Gulltown.”

 

“A two-pronged attack? Cersei will reuse my brothers tactic on the Blackwater. And more than likely use what Wildfire she’s got left to encircle the city with it.”

 

“That will not be an issue. Those of us that lived during Aery’s reign have managed to secure the remaining Caches. And they’re pressed for time to make more. Especially with all the accident in the Alchemist Guild at the moment.”

 

“Well, when you put it like that. I suppose I’ll hear from you.”

 

“Indeed, you will hear from Us. Soon.”

 

As he left Jaime could not help the chill that went down his spine, the way he referenced them as ‘Us’ and ‘We’ made his stomach coil. What had happened to them? It had been years, but still. They were not so, closely knit, back then.

 

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As their party winds down the hill and across the field, Jon can not help but marvel at Moat Cailin. Probably the oldest structure in the North, and also the largest. Besides the Wall.

 

Its northern side is almost defenceless. But that’s hard to change on their current timetable. But it’s seemingly been noted by Marlon, as he easily spots men that are barely even hiding behind the crenellation of the towers that face the northern side of the castle.

 

Their procession is halted at the gates, where they are met byMarlon. He is armoured with steel plate, but with silver inlets designed to resemble seaweed. It starts on the gorget and easily flows down in every direction all the way down to the tassets.

 

“So, you’re the new King in the North are you?” The man asked, his hair grey like his cousin. But he is easily more well built. Having had the position of Commander of White Harbour’s Garrison most of his life would have ensured that.

 

“Aye. I’ll have a look at the situation before I return to Winterfell. Your cousin, Lord Wyman, will reinforce you shortly after my departure, I’m sure. Hopefully, I’ll manage to return before the battle commences.”

 

Jon signals his men to settle down. As Yohn has done as well. Though his men will stay for more than the night.

 

“I’ll talk with you later.” Jon says as he leaves them to talk amongst themselves. He feels at ease around them. They are not complicated, but they and what they do are the very thing he’d escape if he’d leave after killing the Queen. He wasn’t sure what was worst. Leaving, or staying. But before he could get to a decision he had to find whatever this Bloodraven had left for him.

 

The Children’s last fortification. The Children’s tower. Already flying a Stark Banner.

 

Jon quickly started to run up the stairs. The main room on the top floor was filled with old furniture. Though not all that old. Some of it was broken, though.

 

As he walked around the place. Jon felt drawn to the hearth in the corner. It was easily large enough for him to lie down on if he’d have a need to.

 

Jon easily scraped off the ash and the coal and half burnt wood. The stones were not damaged, he’d think they were replaced no more than 50 years ago or something like that. Thinking that the Bloodraven had disappeared around that time, what he was looking for may be found beneath it. Jon took his dagger and scrapped off the mortar and got out a brick. And another. The process took him maybe half an hour. But before long he had removed the layer of bricks that hid the original hearth. Inside of it, he saw three sacks of leather. One was short and unremarkable in length of width. The second was long and thin. The third one was Short and thick.

 

Jon decided to go for the long one first. He had an idea, as he could recall a bit of Brynden River’s history. He was a remarkable archer who’s personal troop was called the Raven’s teeth.

 

And indeed it was. If he had to guess it was his personal one. Weirdwood, easily a longbow of over 100 pounds in draw weight. Detailing on the grip was a white dragon on a maroon background. Brynden River’s personal crest.

 

The next was the short and thick one, as he expected after the bow, it was a quiver. It contained two dozen Weirwood and Iron oak composite arrows.

 

The last one Jon was unsure about until he picked it up. It was a sword. But it was first when the leather bag was taken off of it that he realised what kind of sword it was. Valyrian Steel. Dragon detailings across the crossguard and the hilt.

 

Just for safety’s sake, Jon checked the blade. And it was indeed Valyrian Steel, it was different. It seemed as if it was sharper. More potent somehow.

 

Jon checked the quiver once he’d laid the sword down. In the top pocket was the bowstring. And in the second one was a note. Detailing the direction to The Teeth’s weaponry. That would be at least 100 more weirwood bows.

 

Jon drew an arrow from the quiver and was surprised that the arrow heads were made of Dragon Glass. If they were to find that armoury, then they would have a small army of archers ready to fight. According to the note, the Teeth were allowed to take all of their belonging north to the Night’s Watch. And that would be more than a few dozen arrows per archer.

 

He wouldn’t have the time to get to Castle Black. But according to the Note, the armoury was hidden in the Night Fort.

 

Jon gathered the weapons as he thought and hid them in an old chest in the back before he walked out and down the stairs. At the bottom, he rejoined the men.

 

#

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TPS TPS TPS

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#

 

It was night now. It would be the best time to leave. Her night vision was better than even the Crannogmen. How was she sure of that? She’d noted that most of them were on the wall that she ended up leaving trough. That and she was walking down the Kingsroad, albeit she was not using a torch. But Nymeria and a dozen or so of her pack were there. With a satchel that had her things in it, including Needle.

 

She’d take care of the Frey’s. Not just for threatening Jon. But also for their massacre of her family. They may not have had the best of relationships, but that didn’t change the fact that they had killed her Mother. For not to say, Robb. And she had HEARD Greywind. She’d heard his last whine as they killed him.

 

The walk down the Kingsroad trough the Neck may take a few days, but few, if anyone, will dare close in on her. She knew that.

 

She didn’t like deceiving Jon, but it was nice to talk with him. Even if he didn’t know. Part of her liked that he didn’t mind that she beat his men up a bit. No more than what was needed for them to get the message. But still, she can’t help but think he’ll think differently when he learns it was her. But then again, she’d seen what he did to people that threatened his family, and that family being Sansa said enough. But Jon was like Father that way. There were no interpreting of the law. The law was what it was, whether he liked it or not, and he’d follow it until his task was done.

 

Before dawn, Arya could no longer see Moat Cailin. And she can not help but think that was good. If they could see her, then they’d investigate. But the Crannogmen that watches the road, they’ll just wonder why a woman is in the company of wolves and a direwolf and is heading south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to ask this here. But any of you know why I can't make a word file in FFdotNET?  
> I copy it in, I have named it. But once I click submit document I get an error saying this web page can not be reached or something like that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, Sorry. I don't plan on being this late with a chapter again. We're trying to wrap up some home remodelling before winter comes again, and that takes up a bit of time. But I think I should manage to keep my stories coming now that I've adjusted my desk to be of normal height, instead of being an oversized bedside table :)
> 
> Anyways onto the story.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own, nor do I work on ASOIAF or Game of Thrones. This is just for fun and to work on Grammar in a more fun way.

They'd just broken their fast when Jon and Marlon studied the landscape around Moat Cailin, the swamps around it would help prevent anyone from hitting its rear. But a few catapults or trebuchets would be all that the Frey's would need to turn the towers into rubble.

"We're of course focusing our efforts on the outer Southern walls, and the Southern portions of the Eastern and Western walls." Marlon tells him as they walk alongside the inner ramparts, the Crannogmen, while not used to working with stone are efficient builders and with the training and oversight from the men from White Harbour are quickly changing parts of the wall every day. He expects that by the time they engage the Frey's that at least what Marlon tells him about should be done.

"Good, I hope your men will be able to create new gates to be put up with the new gatehouses?" Jon questions.

"Aye, my Cousin will bring with him the portcullises that I ordered when I first assessed the situation here. The gates will, of course, be done in time as well."

"Good, we'll need every edge we can get to hold the castle." Jon tells him as he walks over to assess the work on the Tower of the First Men. As it was already torn down, all he could see was the work being done to improve its foundations and then barely widened by two or three blocks, though he had a feeling that the tower would not be any bigger by the time it got to the height of the wall.

* * *

 

Sansa enters the smith shortly after breaking her fast. It had snowed again trough out most of the night, but the guards kept the courtyard mostly clear so her dress and cloak was not too wet and soggy.

Though, Ghost seemed to love it. Had he missed the snow he saw North of the Wall?

"My Lady." She heard Mikken say slowly as he noticed her presence in his workshop.

"Mikken." Sansa says with a smile and a nod in his direction before her gaze journeys to the new smith. Somehow, someway he'd convinced Jon that he was trustworthy.

But he's proven himself to not always being the best judge of character. But she'd find out. One way or another if he was trustworthy.

"I'll just need a few moment with your apprentice." She tells the older man as she looks at him working. He seems to be working on a plate now. Odd, besides the lands of the Manderly's, few if any of the North uses that. Besides the few Lords here and there.

"Once he's finished this step of that gorget, you're free to talk with him." Mikken tells her.

"Good." Sansa mutters. She's truly glad that the smithy is so warm, if it wasn't, she's sure she'd be freezing. For not to say Mikken. The man is old, having been one of the few men that's lived trough three generations of Starks means that he's seen quite a lot. As seen by the designs on the new Scabbard for Longclaw.

Just as her patience was waning she heard Mikken yell out. "Take a break, the Lady wants a word with you."

"What does the Lady want?" She hears the man ask as he comes forward. He was clearly broad chested and strong. And his accent sounded deftly Crownlandish.

He's got short black hair that barely reaches past his ears. And Blue eyes, not unlike what she could recall Renly's was.

"Walk with me?" She questions. She trusts Ghost to keep her safe. Especially as he's proven himself to be able to sniff out potential traitors already.

"If that's what My Lady wants." He says though Sansa can't help but wonder if there was a question in there somewhere.

She answerers with a simple nod as she leaves the smithy and walks slowly towards the Godswood. She looks back and sees him walking very carefully as Ghost matches him step by step. His blood red eyes sizing up the man, not as an enemy, but as a potential ally, and as a rival.

As soon as she sees the Heart Tree Sansa stops walking so hurriedly and turns once more to look at the man.

"What's your name, ser?"

"I am no Knight, my lady."

"I've seen Knight's not worthy of that title. And I've seen Wildlings worthy of it. I'll choose for myself who to call 'ser' or not to call 'ser'. Ser."

"Fair enough, My Lady. My name is Gendry Waters, My Lady."

"Who's your father?" She asks curiously. Though also hesitantly, she can't help but feel as if it's too much asking that of somebody she doesn't even know.

"Robert Baratheon. Robert Baratheon was my sire." He tells her.

"You look quite a bit like his younger brother, though, as muscular as people often said Robert was in his youth." Sansa told him with a small smile.

He seems to try to smile, but not being able to hold it. "Yeah, so I heard once. Is there something else, my Lady?"

"Why does my brother trust you?" She asks cautiously.

"A shared love. I think. Of your sister. She was a good girl, I headed here as that was where I knew she'd head towards." He told her.

"Arya? Why're you talking past tense? Last we heard she was alive." Sansa reveals.

"When?" He asks fervently.

"Half a year ago, Brienne said she saw her near the Saltpans."

"Then… Then she could not have been at the Twins. She would've been caught if she travelled that fast." The man says slowly. A true smile slowly making it's way to his face.

She's not sure why, but Ghost's piercing scrutiny of the man seemed warranted to her. She did not trust him. Not yet at least.

* * *

Dany is standing at the front of her ship as it closes in on Dragon Stone, the place where she was born. The place her mother had died. The place she had to flee before she got to know, because The Usurper feared children.

Her Dragons had circled the castle for the last few hours as the ships got into position. She would not let the Baratheon dogs that lived there escape.

But already as her ship and one of the ships filled with Unsullied closed in on the harbour she was in for a surprise. The castle was flying a Targaryen banner, and so was the Harbour master's cabin. She could see the yellow of the Baratheon banner, with a flicker of red and orange above the black stag, lying in the half dry mud.

As she and Greyworm, as well as the Unsullied from her ship, walked up the docks she could not help but feel ill at ease here. It might have been her home once, but she did not think she could ever feel at home in such a desolate place. As they closed in on the castle itself, the feeling tripled. She loved her dragons, they were likely to be the closest she'd ever get to children. But, the decorations she saw alongside the castle was beyond just honouring the Dragons. It was deifying them. Her ancestors viewed the dragons as Gods?

As she entered the castle, that feeling did not disappear. Even with her Unsullies surrounding her, she felt half afraid of what would happen when they entered the Lords Hall. While it was impossible to say that the Baratheon lord had done his best to get rid of or hide the Targaryen decorations in this hall, he had failed miserably. While she could see that the chair that now took the Lords position in the seating arrangements on the dais. She could tell that the ones that had done this had a hard time getting it back in place before her arrival.

Even now, it would seem. As the dozen or so men and women that flitted about getting rid of Baratheon items, and putting Targaryen items back in place.

"My Queen. I am Varyon, Master Varys appointed me as Steward of Dragonstone- to care for it in your stead." One of the men proclaimed. He had muddy brown hair, dressed in relatively fine cloth she imagined. It was hard to tell when she herself was so used to seeing everyone wear nothing but silks, and fine cloth and more exotic fabrics. Unless you were unfortunate enough to end up a beggar or a really poor freeman, then you'd at least wear cloth as fine as this man.

His clothes were black, with silver and red dealings winding around themselves.

"Varyon? I thought that was a Valyrian name." Dany questions slowly as she looks around the room. She may not like how her ancestors worshipped the dragons, but this room, this room made her think it could not be all that bad.

"It is, your grace." The man tells her as he turns around. She barely stifles a gasp as she sees his eyes. They are dark, dark enough to be mistaken for blueish black. But she can see it. His eyes have the purple colouring of her house.

"Do not be afraid, your grace. My House has looked after yours since the Doom. Over the centuries we've waned. But we've never forgotten." He tells her, and if it wasn't for the secrets that seemed to come out of the woodwork these days, she'd believed him. But for now, she'd patiently observe and figure out how much of what he said was true, and how much was false.

* * *

Brienne was not sure what was going on, they'd been moving as close to the Kings Road as they dared while not being easily seen. But tonight they were not moving, they heard Wolves howl. As they sat there in the forest and looked out at the Kings Road, Brienne could not help but wonder what was going on, as all that she'd heard indicated that most if not all wolves in the Riverlands had been migrating northward. But now, she saw what was going on, this wolf pack was led by a direwolf. A direwolf that was ridden by a woman, probably no older than Sansa. But, this one seemed to be built for fighting.

"What's going on?" Podrick asks as he sees it too.

"Nothing good, I'd imagine." Brienne answers automatically, as she truly did not know. This did not seem good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be a bit longer, just some things that needed to happen before the siege of Gulltown and such.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. The scenes were just not cooperating with me, and then I got a bad cough that made me doing pretty much anything that required thought a bad idea. It's still here, but it's going away slowly but surely now. Hopefully, I'll manage to keep to the schedule moving forward now.

The tower had indeed made it to the height of the wall. Its structure was twice as thick as the old towers. And seemingly impossible for a mere catapult stone to tear trough. But he was not sure how it'd stand up to a trebuchet.

Though, Marlon's focus was mostly on the actual towers of the walls. The named towers were more like small keeps within the main courtyard. Though holdable. That was never their main purpose. Their purpose was to be a place to stay while there.

Jon's men were ready to leave, but Jon was not. He'd packed everything he found. The bow, the arrows, and the sword. But he could not find the serving girl. The more he thought about it, he hadn't seen her since the night they arrived. He'd barely caught sight of her at supper that night.

According to those on guard duty that night, they'd neither seen or heard anyone leave the castle in either direction. He didn't like the idea of losing someone under his command, especially not a non-combatant.

"I suppose we'll be leaving now." Jon says uncomfortably to Marlon.

"Don't you worry. We'll figure it out. The castle's not that big. Well, it is. But not the main castle here. She shouldn't have been able to leave it. We'll find her before you return to Winterfell. I'm sure of it."

"I hope you're right." Jon says as he mounts his horse.

But, as he was about to give the order to leave he heard a call from the Southern wall.

"Two riders approaching. One in blue armour and the other in Lannister squire's attire!"

It couldn't be. Could it?

Before Jon knew it he had dismounted and ran for the southern wall. First, he had to run trough the main courtyard and then out into the unruly plains that were between the two walls. As he reached the wall he heard Brienne speak.

"I am Brienne of Tarth, sworn shield to Sansa Stark. This is my squire, Podrick."

"And why is your squire wearing traditional Lannister squire attire?" The guard questions.

"Let them through." Jon yells out to the guards.

In a few short moments, the gate's been opened and the lady-knight and her squire are let through without further issue.

"What're you doing here? Where's Sansa?" Brienne immediately questions as they start the journey to the main courtyard.

"She's safe, she's in Winterfell under the watchful eyes of Ghost, and Nestor Royce. They'll keep her safe."

"Safe from Baelish? Doubtful. That man will put his claws into her, and this time, he won't let go." Brienne tells him as Marlon arrives with his horse. It was foolish of him to make that run, it was first when he saw the southern gate open that he realised it was the actual southern wall.

"I find that difficult to believe, as I executed him about a fortnight ago."

"On what grounds?" Brienne asks "The Lords of the Vale won't sit idly by as one of their Lords are murdered."

"On the grounds of conspiracy, the murder of the Lady of the Vale as well as many other things. It was all approved of." Jon tells her as he mounts his horse once again.

"Alright then." Brienne says as they enter the courtyard.

"So, do we set off now, or shall we wait till morrow?" Jon questions as he notices their fatigue.

"We'll take a meal, we can set off after." Brienne says, though her tone seems questioning.

"It's fine. I doubt it will make too much of a difference." Jon says as calmly as he could.

He notices, rather belatedly, her discomfort at that. He'll have to hear the story behind that at a later time. For now, he's just glad that Sansa's actual sworn shield is back. That would be a reason to not be allowed entry to her chambers, right?

 

* * *

 

Tyrion has to say that seeing the Dothraki, and the quarter of their remaining Unsullied forces departing from their ships was, quite the sight to see. Though, he was weary of the Dothraki. They could serve a purpose, excellent as outriders, but he doubted their loyalty. They were worse than sell swords in his eyes. Except for Bronn, he was good, he just didn't know another way of life. Nor did he have the diligence to learn it.

He'd put some of the more trusted Unsullied captain's there, to make sure things ran smoothly. He'd manage to keep the naval landing going with the aid of the Greyjoy siblings.

"Well, this is where I leave, I'm afraid." He heard Varys say.

"Oh?"

"I received a message, there is something I need to take a look at myself. Do take care until I return." Varys says.

"As much as a dwarf can while besieging a town from the sea can." Tyrion japes. But he has neither Bronn, Podrick nor the Mountain clansmen to watch out for him now.

As soon as the row boat that Varys used to get to land was back, they left the shore. And continued their journey towards Gulltown.

They would most likely arrive a day or two before those on land, but it would not be wise for them to be seen earlier than the night before the siege. That way, no reinforcement can arrive. Even though he hardly thinks there are any to be had.

* * *

They had spent the last few days skirting around Winterfell. Luckily, missing all of the patrols that were there.

It was closing in on night, or so they assumed as a snow storm had hit them shortly after Winterfell had disappeared in the distance. But, either way. They had to take shelter under a soldier pine, lest they'll be buried under the snow and not wake again.

"We'll be alright, Bran." Meera tells Bran as she ties the horse to a tree. She hurriedly takes off the saddle bags and places down the furs at a tree below the one the horse is tied too.

"I know." Bran tells her as she helps him down. He'd seen it, in one of the visions he had. He was the Lord of Winterfell, but Jon was King. He could not tell who the two that was beside him was, but one of them was rather familiar. He wished he could figure out who it was. It wasn't even what he tried to get a vision of, he wanted to see the Tourney of Harrenhall he should get the information he needed there.

"Do you think, we'll be alright?" She questions as they huddle together next to the tree.

"We will be, we will find your father and then we'll figure out what to do next." Bran says softly.

Meera is such a weird girl, yet such a calming influence, Bran wonders how things had panned out if they'd met before. Would he have stopped climbing?

Doubtful, but he hoped that would have happened. That in some time-stream, they'd met and he'd stopped being so reckless.

 

* * *

 

Sansa had been outside in the Godswood when the snow storm hit. It was rather unexpected. Seemingly coming out of nowhere. Or so, the Maester said. She was not sure if she could trust him. She certainly didn't trust him more than she did the Wildling Healers.

But as she looked out into the storm, she couldn't help but think it was purely natural. Chaotic, as Father used to say it was. She did not think she could recall a snow storm before. She'd seen snow, even played with it when she was young before she learned what 'Bastard' meant.

But she'd never seen a storm. It was chaotic, but there seemed to be a beauty to it as well. Untamed wind and snow. Blowing in every direction at once. She was sure she could watch it all night long. But she couldn't, she had to take care of a few matters early on the morrow, lest she does not take care of her family's obligations.

She managed to get out of her evening dress without much fuss. Her hair she'd done shortly before she'd been brought her evening meal.

Her dress off, she got rid of her stockings and undergarments. Though her evening dress and robe was easily laid next to her bed so that she could dress to answer the door, if she needed to.

 

* * *

 

It has been a few days, and Jon has come just north of the crossroad of the Kings Road and the White Road.

So far, no issue. But now, Brienne and Podrick's returned to camp with a third horse. And on it was what seemed to be two people, dressed as Wildlings. All fur.

"Jon!" he heard an elated voice say, before he did more than take a single step towards them.

Bran? Was that Bran?

Hurrying over, Jon found it to be true. His baby brother was alive.

"It's good to see you, Bran." Jon said slowly as he grasped his forearm.

"It's good to see you too, Jon." Bran said with a tired smile.

Jon looks over to the girl. So this was Meera Reed then.

"Thank you, for looking after him." Jon told her.

She simply looked knackered. Her eyes were drooping, even now.

"Brienne, help her to my tent." Jon tells the lady warrior, while he pulled Bran into his own arms.

"What are you doing Jon?" Bran asks.

"The two of you're tired, Bran. You need to rest properly for a night before we continue."

"Where are you going?" Bran asks.

"Home. We're going Home, Bran."

 

* * *

 

She was neither Arry, Arya, Nan, Cat of the Canals, or Isa of Wintertown now.

Now she was Bella of Seagard. Nymeria and her wolves were patrolling the Eastern side of the river. But for now, Bella had to finish making the pie.

It was rather repugnant. Making a pie of people. But, she'd had worse tasks. The worst part was waiting for them to cook. Whoever would work in these kitchens in the days and weeks from now, would not be able to rely on their sense of smell. If there was ever a time Bella disliked her Wolves-bond. Then it was now, she had a feeling even without it she'd be able to smell this.

By the time the pie was done, the feast was coming to a close. And luckily, she could not smell burnt flesh anymore. Or maybe she just spent too much time in the kitchen to tell the difference.

Finding them alone in the preperation of the feast was easy enough. Killing them, easier still. Taking them apart to make a pie, not so much. Yet, now it was all over. She just had to give it to Lord Frey. And then, he and the rest of his sons and grandsons would eat their fill of their son, and brothers and uncles.

She'd heard about the plan for the siege. And this would be the perfect way to help them. Without giving any sign that she'd been here.

Inside the hall. The same hall that her mother and brother had died in. The same hall that they had destroyed her brother's body in.

She placed the pie at the head table. Where Lord Frey, and the two men who'd so generously offered to be part of her pie should have sat.

"Here's the pie, mi'lord." Bella said meekly as she set down the tray. Quite large, most likely would have required two people to carry out. But she was stronger than most kitchen wenches. Definitely more balanced.

"Good. Good, now cut me a piece." The man said shortly as he gushed down what remained in his cup. His beady eyes scanning the room again. They had done so rather often tonight.

Quickly she got to it, and served him a slice. Before long, she had served most of the Frey's that was left in the hall. Each and everyone of them eating quickly. As if it was the best meal they'd ever had. If they only knew.

Before the hour was out, she'd fed all of them twice. Lord Frey had taken three slices. His brood left shortly after. But Lord Frey was apparently not a man to let food be wasted. So he'd decided to finish up the pie. They'd barely eaten half of it so far.

"Fetch me some more wine, girl. Then join me." He told her. This could be her chance to leave. But it was also a chance to take out the main orchestrator of her family's ruin. The chance was too good to let go of.

"Yes, Mi'lord." She said as she left the hall.

In the kitchen she found her satchel and took out a dagger and hid it between her dress and her bodice.

Hurriedly she ventured into the wine cellar and found a bottle of wine, similar to the ones that were served earlier in the night.

On her way back to the hall, she braced herself. Knowing that the lecherous lord would try to get her in his bed.

As she got back and refilled his cup, he asked for another slice. How a man who ate so much could be so skinny was beyond her. But he was.

He'd barely grabbed her ass twice before she dropped her persona and held him at dagger point. Dragging off her face and revealing herself to him.

"My name is Arya Stark. I want you to know that the last thing you're ever going to see, is a Stark smiling down at you as you die."

Before the old fool could move, she'd already cut his throat. And for good measure, she stabbed him twice. Once in the stomach, and once in the heart.

"The Starks, send their regards!" She hissed before she left.

Bella came upon a guard as she left the hall, she hadn't put away her dagger. She quickly cut his forearm, then his neck. Leaving him to bleed out in the hallway.

Now it was just to get her satchel, and leave. There would be few guards on patrol yet. As most of the men was still travelling back from Riverun. She'd wished to see it, but now it was not even owned by Arya's family. It was another seat of House Frey now.

In the kitchen, Bella changed clothes to what she'd worn on the journey south. Changed to Isa of Wintertown she put the satchel on her back and started her journey out of the castle. It took a while, but it was not dangerous. The guard patrols were ridiculously easy to predict. Arya's Father would not have been kind to guards that were that easy to predict. Correction, he would not be kind to the Captain of the Guard that gave them so easily predictable patrols.

Out of the castle, she found the pack and joined them, as they started heading North she heard the bells being rung. They'd found the bodies.


	13. Chapter 13

Jon rode trough Wintertown with the men, Meera and Bran at his side and Brienne and Podrick just behind. And after them, the men.

The small town had grown back into a flurry of activity as it should be at this time. Last few trees being brought in to be thawed, chopped and distributed between the townspeople.

There were so much to see and so many people to greet as they ventured between the Town gate and the castle gate. But he barely had the presence of mind to do that. Luckily, Bran seemed to catch the slack. At least for the most part. They'd managed to wash out his hair so that its copper colouring was brought out again, so few questioned him answering for Jon.

Entering the courtyard he saw the flurry of activity the town gate's horn blowing ignited. The stable Master was ready to take the horses. Other's were ready to unpack the cart. And other's were there to greet the soldiers.

Sansa, Ghost and Nestor stood there, ready to greet them on their return.

Jon climbed off his horse and walked over to Meera's and took Bran off of it before he helped steady Meera as she climbed off her own horse.

"I am fine." She told him with an annoyed glare.

"I'm just looking after you. The both of you." Jon said with a look at Bran, who he'd placed on his back as best as he could.

As he walked over towards Sansa, he saw when she recognised him.

"Bran?" She asked hesitantly as if her speaking his name would make him disappear.

"Sansa." Bran said simply, though Jon could feel that he smiled.

"It is so good to see you again." Sansa said as she walked forward and engulfed the both of them in a hug. Though, it'd be hard to not hug him as well as Bran was on his back.

"It is good to see you too." Bran said slowly as one of his hands tried to hug Sansa as well.

"Maybe we should continue this inside?" Brienne asks as she came up behind them.

"I think that'd be a good idea." Bran tells them as he let's go of Sansa and reconfirms his hold on Jon.

* * *

Bran is seated at a table in the Lord's Solar. It is not at the desk, though. Thank the Gods for that.

No, it was just at the table next to the Hearth. Meera sat closest to him on the sofa. Across from them were Jon and Sansa in another Sofa. Ghost was lying outstretched in front of the weirwood desk.

"What were you doing North of the Wall, Bran?" Jon asked.

"There was something there that I needed."

"What? What could make you go out there?"

"Knowledge." Bran says with conviction.

"What knowledge could you find there?" Jon asks confusedly.

"The sort that one can't find anywhere else. Save perhaps, one place in the South. The Knowledge of the Children. And the Old Gods." Bran starts to explain.

"I do not know all of it. I. I barely understand what I know right now. There was a man, he called himself the Three-eyed Raven. He was a man who's lived for over a hundred years. He's seen things, both of the past, the present and the future. That is why I went there, to learn about my ability."

Jon and Sansa just looked at him strangely. But Jon less so.

"Greensight?" He asked.

"Yes."

"And the Three-eyed Raven thought you?"

"Yes. Have you heard of him?" Bran asks.

"Yes. He was a Targaryen Bastard. One of the Great Bastards apparently. This will only be a short stop I'm afraid." Jon said, looking to Sansa as he said the last part.

"Why?" Sansa questions. Was that agitation in her eyes?

"He and his men that took the Black were allowed to bring anything they wanted. The arrowheads of their arrows were made of Dragonglass. We should have enough for a dozen archers to take out a few of them if they're good shots and they can't do anything else that's impossible as well."

"Do you know how many of them there are?" Meera asks.

"No. I saw four at Hardhome. I killed one." Jon said simply.

"We saw a dozen of them. There's more than likely a lot more of them." Bran said resolutely. Because that was the truth as far as he knew.

"Makes some sense I suppose," Jon said as he sighed. "Craster let the White Walkers take any boys of his in exchange to be left alone. They must've bolstered their numbers with deals like that with other remote settlements. There can easily be a thousand of them if there are. And that's just if we count this generation. If they've been doing this ever since the Long Night, there can be Hundred's of Thousands of them."

"That's… There's no beating that," Meera says. "I saw what three of them and a few dozen of their wights can do. We should just abandon the North and head south."

"We'll figure something out. Meera, how well are you with a sword?" Jon asks as he looks at the woman.

"I'm a crannog woman, we use spears." She says flatly, she views swords as requiring less work to get right. Maybe she's right, but as it is, he'll never know.

"Right. But I don't have a valyrian steel or dragon glass tipped spear for you." Jon says as he takes something out of the chest that he took from the cart and lays it out on the table.

"If I recall my history lessons correctly. This is Dark Sister." Jon supplies as he unwinds the leather.

The short sword's hilt was decorated, black and red with dragon designs on its hilt and its pommel. The scabbard was almost clean of designs except for the design on the top and the bottom of it. Just a clear black leather scabbard save for those dragon designs.

"I'll leave it up to you three to decide who'll get it. I'd leave the bow too, but I can't ask any of the men to come with me north."

"Jon!" Sansa said immediately.

"I can't, Sansa. I don't think the Wall will hold much longer. I'll tell Ed to send out the messages for the Night's Watch to take the equipment and the food and then to fall back. Hopefully, the ships at The Shadow Tower will be enough for those that's there to make the journey south safe. EastWatch will have enough ships to do the same. Those at Castle Black will head south and group up with Tormund and start heading south to Moat Cailin and join the Garrison there.

As a man, I greatly admire once said 'I'll light the Biggest fire the North's ever seen.' Save it won't be just the North. It'll be all of Westeros." Jon told them. Who was this man, why'd he say such a thing? And why'd Jon admire such a man?

* * *

Jon was in his chambers. He'd barely gotten his clothes to one of the servants before the impromptu meeting. And now, now he needed to pack a bag again. Except for this time, he'd not bring anything but winter clothes. He'd need to get to Castle Black and then the Night's Fort. From there he'd need to head as best as he can back towards Winterfell. And the only place between the two places is Queens Crown, Mole's Town and Last Hearth. And Last Hearth is two days ride from the Kings Road.

He'd need to send a raven out before he leaves to warn them about the walkers and the need to evacuate. Luckily, Lady Lyanna had done so the morning he had left.

Sansa. That was an oddity. Why did she care whether he left or not? He had to do this to give them half a chance. One hundred archers, they could if nothing else allow them to do a proper fighting retreat. Not huddling together as they run like the Night's Watch had to do after the Fist of the Fist men.

He had to do this. For all of them. For her, for Bran. For their family. For everyone that they'd lost so far. To do his part to make sure that no one else had to die.

He had Long Claw, it's been decided that for the time being, Lyanna would keep Dark Sister. Once Winter was over, they'd worry about who's sword went to who.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter." Jon said softly as he got up from his bed.

Sansa entered the room. Her dress the same shade of Stark grey she'd worn since they'd left Castle Black. But she was no longer wearing the one that she wore during their vie for allies. And the ensuing campaign.

"What is it, Sansa?" Jon asked, a light dread pooling in his stomach.

"Don't go." She pleaded. Her blue eyes big and afraid.

"I can't leave this to someone else. I barely managed to fight one my first time. And it cost a Wildling chieftain his life. I know what I'm getting myself into, and no one else does. I can manage, with the details that Meera gave me on the road I'll be even better off."

Sansa's eyes were no longer big and pleading. They were sharp and hard.

"You'd planned this before you even got back? We fought to get back our home and you'd planned to leave as soon as we got it back?" Her voice filled with derision and venom.

"No, I wasn't. We were just comparing notes on them. But, yes. I planned to leave to get the bows and the arrows from the Night Fort. But now I'm not so sure how long the Wall will hold against them. It could be weeks. Or it could be hours. We don't even know what's kept them away for so long."

"As you describe it. It sounds as if they were in hibernation. Maybe a hundred or a thousand years at a time." Sansa ponders.

She's clearly not happy, but she's conceded defeat on the matter.

"I won't leave for another couple of days. I'll need to rest and double check on what I'll bring with me before I go." Jon says. Mostly as a sign of good will. But also because he doesn't want her to be sad. The quick little quirk of her lips tells him that it's at least working somewhat.

"Good. Evening meal in my quarters?" Sansa asks tentatively.

"Sure." Jon replies with an easy smile.

* * *

Jaime wasn't definitely sure about being down here. But he was. The letter had arrived with his morning food. He was honestly quite surprised that there was still enough grain left for fresh bread. Or any bread at all really. But there was. Hadn't Olenna cut off the Reach's supply from the Capital and the Westerlands yet?

Flea Bottom, the name was certainly lived up to. Fleas. Everywhere. He'd brought a shawl just to wrap around his head a few extra times before he'd donned his cloak. The cloak aside he was again dressed in the tattered old clothes of Rheagar.

He wasn't sure who he was meeting, though. Which put him on edge. The note simply said 'Meet me at the third side alley to the right when entering Flea bottom from the direct route when arriving from the Dragon's Gate. At Sunup tomorrow.'

Jaime's sure he's waited for nearly an hour now. Most of the commoners who's had the misfortune of not managing to leave the city before his Sister's consolidated her grip over the city itself, were bustling about with their lives as best as they can.

There's a noise behind him. A barrel tipping over. Nobody here would do that. Especially with one that sounds so full. Looking back he spots Varys. A cloak like that could only belong to that man. For not to say his stomach. It certainly made the man quite easy to spot. Though, Jaime knew that the man could blend in quite well when he wanted to.

"So. The cards are all on the table now?" Jaime asks derisively. He may agree that his sister's gone too far. But from all he's heard, the Targaryen girl is not that much better.

"Yes. Every, Single, One of them. Including Lyanna's boy."

Lyanna's boy? What was the man talking about?

"Who're you talking about?" Jaime asks.

"You don't know? I recall telling you once. Shortly after your first son's birth, I believe. Understandable really, your sister had tossed you out of her chamber. Something about not needing more than one child I believe. That was of course when Robert was still trying somewhat to be anything. I believe you were drunk at the time.

No matter. Lyanna had a boy before she died. From my sources at Starfall, she died from complications of childbirth. Probably the lack of proper aid from a healer. I told Rheagar to allow one to accompany him, but he was steadfast in the belief that the war would be over with and Lyanna would be in the Red Keep or on Dragonstone by the time the boy would be born.

He was always an optimist. Sometimes I envied him of that, I don't think I can see the good in somebody anymore. I always see the bad first. Your brother may be one of the few exceptions I've made in a long, long time.

But, he's alive. And you've met him. At Winterfell."

"I'm sure I met plenty of boys at Winterfell."

"How many looked like a Stark, was a part of the Stark Household but did not have the name Stark?" Varys questions.

"Jon Snow? The boy who went to the Night's Watch to defend the realm from Gremlins and Grubbles and whatnot?"

"The one and the same. Following much in the family legacy. Both his Father and his Great grand Uncle and Great Great Grand Uncle had plans to overhaul that organisation to be more prepared for the wars to come."

"Are you trying to tell me that there's some truth to those ancient myths?"

"Quite a bit actually. We can believe in Dragons, but we can't believe in White Walkers, Ice spiders and the dead come to life?"

"We've seen Dragons. We have Skeletons of Dragons."

"If something is made of Ice, wouldn't it be logical for it to turn to water once it dies?"

The longer this conversation's gone on for the worse Jaime's head hurts. First off, a Child of the Prince lives. Then he'd met the poor boy. And now Varys is trying to apply Maester's logic to myths and creatures of magic.

"I suppose you may have a point." Jaime concedes once he's wrapped his head around the last few things the man had told him.

"Good. The Queen is understandably distrustful of you. You did murder her Father, although I did vouch for you. And she does know of her Father's madness. I've caught her second guessing herself because of her fear of having it herself. Which I have to admit, the signs are not in her favour. No Targaryen that's ever 'caught' the Madness have ever lost it."

"What are you getting at?"

"I need you to head North. Bring whoever you trust with you, seek admission to the Northern Court. I'm sure that with the cache of Dragon Glass and Dragon Glass weapons that'll be waiting for you at the Trident they'll let you speak if nothing else."

"Dragon Glass? A little eccentric, especially for the Northerners, don't you think?" Jaime asks.

"Let's just say that they can pierce more than just steel. There is no metal save Valyrian steel that it can not pierce. It was the material of choice for the Children according to the legends that Rheagar read. And so far, so good. From the last day of the last spring to the last day of Autumn there's been 17 years. 'Give or take two decades worth of Summer shall precede the Long Night'"

"That was a vague prophecy."

"Well. Not all is based on prophecy. This was what Rheagar found when he and Aemon reviewed the notes and books that the Northerners had on the Long Night. It's a cycle, every three thousand years this happens. And this time, we don't have the Children of the Forest- if they ever existed- to help us. So, we need more men. Men that knows what they're doing. Men that are properly armed. Well, to be honest, we could have used you before you lost your sword arm."

"Straight and to the point. Aren't you."

"I used ever avenue short of revealing myself to get you out of captivity. The boy showed great skill as a commander and as a warrior. If it wasn't for his slight towards Lord Frey, I'm sure he could have gone on to defeat your Father in battle. Now, among your companions, you'll find a few Northern lordlings who'll most likely not trust you. Why would they, your father had them in the dungeons since the Bolton's betrayed them."

"Who? From what I can recall, there were quite a few of them that were captured."

"Ser Wylis Manderly. Some of my birds found his location and a few companions in Gulltown. They were freed and brought somewhere to recuperate. Unfortunately, the few lords that the Bolton's betrayed during the war died before they were captured. I'll trust that you can make the most of this.

Now, at the trident, there'll be a barge to take you to the Bay of Crabs. There you'll change to a caravel and it'll take you the White Harbour. And the real challenge will start there I suspect."

* * *

He could feel the weather in his bones and they had not even crossed the Neck yet. The weather in and of itself was not that bad. It hasn't started snowing yet. But it was definitely getting colder. It has honestly been a monotonous journey. Even with the Hound added into the group.

"How much longer?" Speak of the Other.

"I thought you'd done this journey once before?" Thoros asks jovially as he turns his head to look at the man.

"I did. I had a horse. And the Journey took us a turn of the moon. We've journeyed for three now." The hound complained. If he wasn't fighting or eating. Then he was complaining.

"Back then you had free reign. You travelled in the company of the King. Now, now it's every man for himself. Every kingdom has broken it's allegiance to the Iron Throne save the Westerlands and the Riverlands. We should be at the Neck by the end of the sennight. And from there, a fortnight or two until Winterfell." Beric tells them as he walks ahead.

Thoros can't exactly fault the man. He seems to be getting uneasy the closer they get to the North now. Ever since his first vision in a long long time. The Wall falling down. A dragon alone in the ensuing blizzard to keep the darkness at bay. The dragon loses. Then a few days before they found Lemoncloak and the Hound he had another. Melisandre's execution. He could not exactly fault the boy. He had never truly liked her or the others like her. Those who've seen everything. Yet have chosen to do nothing for so long.

There's a wolf's howl in the distance. And the entire party stops. Five heartbeats later Beric starts walking forward again.

"Beric." Thoros cries out as he starts following the man. He truly doubted his ability to resurrect a man so maimed. Based on the footsteps, the Hound follows him.

Beric stands in the smaller clearing. Wolves surrounding him in a half circle. In the front is a wolf that based on its size must be one of the Stark's direwolves and a girl.

"Bloody hell." The Hound lets out as he comes to a stop beside Thoros. The girl looks up at them then. Her curiosity in Beric laid to rest. There's something about her. But he can't put his hand on it. Is she glaring at them? Yes, she is. Where has their path's crossed before? And what is she doing in the company of a pack of wolves led by one of the Stark's direwolves?

"Arya stark. I see you found your wolf. What happened to your face? You wouldn't happen to be willing to share that secret with me?" Beric asks as he signals to his eye and throat.

"I am not Arya Stark. Last I heard she died during the sack of Kings Landing by Stannis Baratheon." The girl tells them.

Thoros walks closer and positions himself beside Beric. He could say that there was a semblance there. Her face may be different. But her poise was almost the same. It was different. More relaxed.

"If you're not Arya Stark. Then how have you tamed her Direwolf? Only the child it was entrusted to could ever have a hope of taming them. Now, try again." Beric told her.

"Why should I even bother?" the girl asks as she shifts her stance from relaxed to somebody that's ready for battle. Her right-hand goes to the direwolf and takes something off of a backpack strapped to the beast. It returns with a blade. A small, thin and lithe blade.

"Horse shit." The hound yells as he walks past them. "I saw Arya Stark a year after that attempted sack with that blade!" He stopped when all of the wolves started growling at them.

"Get back!" Thoros hissed at the man. "NOW." Reluctantly the man did so. Mostly because the direwolf had started approaching.

"I believe you were there. When your brother got you justice for your friend." Thoros said simply.

"I was. What about it?" The girl said.

"Just that you seem determined to be apart from the rest of your family. Why? Isn't that what you've wanted for so long. To find them again. To no longer be alone in the world?" Thoros asks.

"That time has passed. Arya Stark is no more." The girl proclaimed. Her belief in her own words was. Astonishing. But her wolf's belief in them was apparently, not so as the Direwolf nudged its head against the girl's stomach.

"Seems like your wolf disagrees," Beric says as he slowly walks forward. "Your brother needs all the help he can get. Because now, Winter is Coming. And it's coming for all of us. There may not be many of us. But I doubt you can find many men that's got the experience to fight a war anywhere else. Least of all an irregular one. And that's the war that's coming. You'll need men that know how to fight outside of the rank and file of a regular army. And that's what we're offering."

Beric knelt before the girl apparently unconcerned with the wolf that was sniffing around him. But Thoros could see the fear that was there. Apparently, he too knew that the odds of him being able of fixing him after an attack like that was slim.

"Nymeria. Stop." The girl says. But the voice was a lot more recognisable. Before their eyes, she gripped her own skin and tore off her own face. She looked like herself again. Older. More world-weary than any child should be. But also, more in control. How far any of that goes will have to be seen.

"I believe you know the way better than the rest of us." Beric says as he rises to his feet. "Thoros, gather the men. I'd hate to lose them now. We've got a Stark in our midsts once more."

* * *

Jon knocks on the door to Sansa's chambers at the time of the evening meal as they'd planned. The day has been filled with things to do. Make sure the weapons and armour are being made. Make sure that the men were trained. Make sure that the town repair was well under way. Make sure that the route south was safe. He'd put Gendry on to double check that while he was gone. Letter's had been sent to every hold fast north of Winterfell. Telling them to pack up food, and the essentials and to start heading south. Winterfell, Moat Cailin and White Harbour being the main regrouping locations.

His unease about the Walkers and the Wall grew every hour. And he couldn't help it. The more that he learnt. The more he felt like they were unarmed. They were so ridiculously unprepared. His impromptu history lessons left him with the feeling that the wrong man had been elected as the successor on the Grand Council of 233. It should have been Brynden Rivers and not Aegon the fifth. If they had, maybe the Seven Kingdoms would be ready.

"Jon. You made it. I wasn't all that sure. As I've tried to get your attention at points trough out the day." Sansa says as she ushers him inside.

"I'm sorry. It was a lot to make sure that was being done." Jon tells her as he takes his seat. Looking around he notices that neither Meera or Bran is there. "Bran and Meera aren't joining us?" Jon asks.

"No. They said they'd had enough of me for one day. So it'll just be the two of us." Sansa tells him, and he can't help but think that she's nervous.

"Well. That's nice too." Jon tells her. Though he couldn't help but feel like this was a trap. He was not all that sure of the two of them alone was the best of ideas. Least of all with the news he'd told them before he'd left earlier.

"That it is." Sansa says before she takes a sip of wine.

Before he knew it they'd eaten their meal and drunk an extra three goblets of wine. Or was it four. However many it was, he did not think he'd consumed so much before. And the longer they'd sat there and talked about all the menial tasks needed to be done to prepare for Winter in general and the other's needed to be done to prepare for the White Walkers.

He couldn't help but notice the swell of her breasts in that dress. Or the way her sky blue eyes looked him over when she thought he was looking out the window. Nor the way her eyes seemed to flit about as if she was getting nervous.

"Come on Jon. I think maybe you should leave before we've emptied the wine cellar." Sansa says with a lilt to her voice.

"Sure." Jon says as he gets up and half stumbles towards the door. Had he been the one drinking all of it? Because Sansa was walking completely normal. How was that possible.

She stops him from just leaving by grabbing his right arm and turning him around.

"You should give a lady a kiss before leaving, Jon." She told him.

"As the Lady commands." Jon whispers as he bends down and takes a hold of her right arm. Lifting it up to his mouth and giving it a short kiss.

"I meant." Sansa begins but she apparently couldn't hold herself because she started giggling.

"What did I do?" Jon asks. His mind may be mostly clouded. But somebody laughing like that wasn't exactly nice.

"Oh, Jon." Sansa says as she stops giggling. "Oh, Jon. You're just so. Sweet." Sansa says as she frames his face with her hands and steps up on her toes and kisses him on the corner of his mouth. "Have a good night." Sansa says as she trails her arms down him. Her hands brushing over his cock. Leaving it harder than it already was. She's smiling up at him.

"Yeah, eh. Good night." Jon says in what he thinks is quick. But is actually quite slow.


	14. Chapter 14

 

The last few days had been filled with things to do. Things to make sure happened the right way. Why wouldn't it? A siege was not something usually left for inexperienced commanders. Well, on paper. Though he knew that it was truly rare for it to be led by a moron like the Late Lord Tyrell. Usually, at least there was a second in command or so that was more capable. But here, here it was Tyrion, the Greyjoy siblings and the Sand Snakes. He could not say he completely understood what their presence was for. The Sand Snakes were assassins. Not warriors, nor commanders. Their use was minimal at best.

But Yara has figured out how their sea landing would go. That was good. The Unsullied had fashioned a ram and had torn trough the gate with ease. Meanwhile, the Dothraki archers had shot down half of the defenders on the walls within shooting range of the main gate. The Greyjoy's archers had done the same to the gate that led to the harbour.

It was when the gates were breached that it went wrong. The Dothraki had not followed orders. There were a lot of civilians dead or raped. Or in some instances, raped and killed. He did not think he'd be leaving the city for long. The unsullied kept the city in order while the Ironborn kept the harbour and the district just inside the harbour gate in line. It was not perfect. But he trusted them to be more civil than the Dothraki at any rate. As soon as the victory feast was underway, a group of Unsullied and Ironborn men had taken their horses off to a secure location. He didn't trust them. The numbers were above five hundred. Those many unnecessary casualties would not be in their favour.

And he was not sure how Daenerys would react. Removing her Dothraki would remove their cavalry, not that the Westerlands had much left of that, and save the Frey the Riverlands were depleted of manpower altogether. The Unsullied would have to do.

* * *

"My Lord, what can I do to help you?" The blacksmith apprentice asked as he knelt in front of them in their solar.

"I am not a lord, not yet anyway." Bran says as he looks over to Meera.

"You're the King's brother. Doesn't that make you a prince as your the heir?" The man asks.

"Mayhaps, I doubt it will come to that, though. Here." Bran says as he hands over a sheet of parchment to the man. "It's a drawing of a chair with wheels. I'm not sure how well it will work, but. If it does, I should be able to move around a floor on my own without aid." Bran explains.

"If it fits trough the doors." Meera mutters from next to Bran.

"It will, that was why I asked you to measure them for me." Bran responds.

"Be that as it may, my lord, this chamber is at the top of a tower." The man questions.

"I'll simply move to Robb's old chambers then." Bran says as his eyes flickered with guilt. "Or something. Those measurements are meant for the Family wing, at any rate, it should fit all of the chambers there."

"I will take it to Mikken and see what work we'll need to do, and he'll most likely send me to a workshop to figure out about the wooden pieces." The man says as his eyes crease in confusion as he looks it over. He's a smith so it shouldn't be anything he couldn't understand. Smiths and other artisans are amongst the most educated of the smallfolk after all.

"You do understand what it says, right?" Meera asks as she looks him over.

"To be honest, no. My old master was kind, but I had a talent for armour. So I suppose he skipped over some of my training while he could." He says as he looks up with shame colouring his face.

"It's fine, I'm sure our Maester can help go over your education in the hours you have to spare. I'll talk with him and Mikken and figure something out." Bran tells him, as his own mind wonders how much is left of his own education. He'd gotten far, he thought Jon and Robb had said that he had a year or so left shortly after they'd witnessed the execution of the Night's Watch Deserter.

"Well, if that's all. My Lord. My Lady." The man said before he bowed and left.

"He seems like a well-behaved fellow." Meera says as she gave him a small grin.

"I think it's called being afraid of my brother and my sister." Bran tells her as he half rolled his eyes. "When are you leaving?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Meera asks in return as she shifts so that she looks directly at him.

"I don't know, I haven't looked." Bran tells her. "Didn't feel right."

"And you didn't have time to." Meera tells him with.

"That's also true." Bran concedes

"I'm not going, me and my brother went to help you, Bran. I'm not going anywhere. At least not until this is done." Meera informed him.

Bran nods his head for a moment. "Thank you." He whispers as he looks her in the eye. Since his family was torn apart by the King 3 years ago she's been with him the longest. Besides Hodor. And he'd both made him and killed him. That was something he could have lived without. Now that he was relatively safe everything came upon him all at once. Every decision. Every call. Every near encounter.

* * *

The day had passed easily so far. Though Jon had not looked at her in a different way. Maybe she'd gotten him too drunk before she'd decided it was time for him to leave. She had to find a way to convince him that they needed to be together. Even if he didn't think it was prudent for them to be together.

It was nice to see Brienne again, even if she wasn't her usual company. She'd been loyal since they met. But she knew that she'd be better company for her sister than herself.

It had been nice to see Bran again. Even if he seemed, off. He was her brother, and he'd always be that. The girl he was with. Meera Reed. She wasn't sure about her. She wasn't sure about the Crannogmen. Period. They were so secluded that one of them interacting with the outside world for more than a moon's turn was almost unheard of. Doubly so since the Rebellion when Howland Reed had actually imposed that as a law. But his own daughter had left to go on an adventure with her brother. She'd protected him from the dangers beyond the wall. Even with her hesitance to interact with the woman, she had to give her credit. She knew what she was doing. Perhaps more so than she did. But she knew how to run a household. But she would probably do that as well. Being of age with Jon and Robb.

The more she tried to puzzle in the new pieces, the less sure she was. But then again, she had thought she knew Baelish. And look how that had turned out. Perhaps it would be best to deal with what one knows on a surface level, and go from there instead of trying to puzzle out what makes them tick?

She'd sent Pod to find Jon and request his presence at supper tonight as well. No matter how heart burned he may get. This was necessary for their family. No matter how she turned it. Even before they'd learnt of his actual ancestry. It was needed. And if she allowed herself to be honest, she wanted to. He was not a bad man, he was kind, honest and brave. Strong, honourable. Everything Father had ever wanted for her. Did he know? Did he hope that Jon hadn't sworn his oath's yet? And planned to champion Jon's cause for it?

No, not even he would've been foolish enough to think that the North would've fought for Jon's right to it. Though with the Lannister's weakened as much as they would've been by then. The Stark forces alone could have a chance to do that. If they were lucky. But then again, she was not a military strategist. What did she know about an actual war? She knew what she'd told Jon before the battle still troubled him at times. But she doubted that she could ever have done the same with another man's tactics. Ramsey was… Ramsey. He was single-minded in his arrogance. And it cost him.

Then there was Arya. Where had she disappeared to? She thought she was the single maid that joined Jon's group. And she'd thought he knew. But now she was gone. And no one knew where she went. They hadn't noticed she was gone until a few days after they arrived at Moat Cailin. And they were sure she arrived with them. If it was Arya then she wouldn't have left like that. She would've stayed by Jon's side like Ghost did to her.

Ghost. He wasn't hers. But she obeyed him as if he was. It was almost worrying. But he helped her keep her composure at all times. Even when she was dealing with some of the Northern Lords that questioned her authority to act on behalf of Jon. Apparently, Greywind had thought them to behave themselves around the Direwolves.

He complained about the heat, though. So he usually slept outside the door.

But it was no use thinking about all of that. Sansa thought as she looked at herself. Her hair done up properly thanks to Beth. Her dress was made up of grey wool and white linen. Her chemise was made of blue silk, with maroon red details

* * *

Jon had gotten done talking with Nestor and found out how many men they had now. As well as how well armed they were. Then he had to figure out how much he could carry on his own. Already expecting that he'd need to abandon his horse at one point he made sure to pack so that he could carry it all on his back without the need of extra saddlebags. It started to get complicated at that point. But he'd figure something out. He always did.

"Lord Snow?" A quiet voice asks him as he steps in close towards him in the kitchen. With all the hustle and bustle going on around him he wouldn't have heard him otherwise.

Looking, he saw that it was Brienne's squire. Podrick Payne.

"Yes, Podrick." Jon says as he looks up towards him.

"Lady Sansa wishes for you to join her for supper later this evening." The boy says.

"Good. I suppose I can't manage to squeeze in more in a backpack than this. Come, I'll teach you a bit." Jon says as he abandons the parchment backpack he'd been trying to fit as much food as possible into.

"You don't have to. I'm sure lady Brienne will."

"I've yet to see her train you once. Come, it'll be good for you." Jon says as he grabs his arm and forces the poor boy to follow him out into the yard. Quickly he took off and placed his sword belt next to the armoury door before he entered and found a few blunted blades. A bastard sword for himself and one of each type of swords for Podrick to choose between.

"Which one should I use?" The boy asks as he looks at the blades.

"Whichever one you're more comfortable with. Or whichever one you think you'll have an easier time fighting with." Jon answers.

He walks over and stands in the middle of the yard. His stance purposefully looser than he'd have it in a real fight.

Podrick chooses the longsword. He moves towards Jon and they stand opposite each other. Podrick's grip is almost correct, but he wields it in an odd manner. After he points it out to the man they're quickly moving into a fight. Though they do it slower than usual. Jon telegraphs his moves. And even then, he sees Podrick blocking and deflecting in a completely arbitrary manner.

After a few rounds of that, they do it at full speed. And while Podrick has a few issues keeping up the pace. And he does make mistakes every now and then. He can't help but think that he is following. He is making progress. And there is hope for him yet.

"You've got potential. You just need to practice a bit." Jon tells him as they put their weapons back.

"I'll try." He says as he wanders off on his own.

Jon decides that he should shift out of his clothes before yet another supper with his sister. Hopefully, he can remember it this time. Otherwise, he may have to object to any more of them.

* * *

His men were out of the city with Bronn. Waiting for him to arrive at sunrise. Or leave. He'd returned because he couldn't stomach the idea of Cersei dying by anybody else's hand. Who knows what they'd do to her first. He knows who Robert Strong is. He knows that anybody that wants to hurt her will have to go trough him. Blessed be the Seven because he knows where her chambers are. And he knows a passage that leads to it.

He knows that the odds that he'll make it out are not too high in his favour. If he only had gotten to keep his hand. Now he was just a figurehead.

Arriving at the entryway he looks out trough the viewing holes and sees that her room is clear. Well as clear as an alcoholic queen's chamber can be. As quietly as he thinks it's possible he slides the passageway back and enters the chamber. Cersei is lying half-comatose on the bed. She must've drunken herself to sleep, especially when he accounts for the goblet lying next to her. He hurries across the chamber and bars the doors from the solar all the way to her bedchamber. Odd how the Mountain wasn't in any of those chambers. But now he must do what he came her to do. Even now that she's blown up the sept and killed over ten thousand people he can't say that it will be easy. But if there was one thing he could not stand by anymore. It was the use of Wildfire. It was the one oath he'd made before Robert became king that he'd never baulked at keeping.

But that did not make it any less painful to kill one's own sister. A woman he's loved all his life. A woman he'd once thought if life had been fairer he'd be allowed to marry.

"Hello, Sister." Jaime said as he sat down next to her. No reaction.

He placed his human hand over her mouth before he hit her with her golden one. Seven's forbid that the Lannisters doesn't do something obnoxious to compensate for something. If it was his cock they'd chopped off would she have made him a golden one?

She startles awake on the third slap. Just how drunk is she?

"Hello. Sister." Jaime says as she looks up at him. Her eyes panicking. They hadn't been this close in forever.

"Do you know why I killed the Mad King? There were lots of theories made. Each one less flattering than the last one to be honest. But it was actually quite simple. He wanted to burn Kings Landing to the ground. Do you know how he planned to do so? He was going to use wildfire. He was going to use wildfire to burn an entire city to the ground. He wouldn't care how many died for it. I think the only mistake I did that day was forgetting the last three people that were under my solitary guard. I'd resigned myself to be the butt of every joke of Knighthood ever since. Even though the Mountain, an anointed knight himself did far heinous crimes. In these very quarters."

Suddenly she must've realised what was going to happen because she started thrashing around. Trying to bite his hand. But the way he clamped it over her mouth kept her jaw shut.

Quickly he shifted them so that he was sitting on her legs. Keeping her quiet.

"Do you know how many oaths they have us swear? Too many, each and every one contradicting each other on a daily basis. But when I was sworn into the Kingsguard. I was relieved. Their oaths were so much easier to follow. Protect the King, Protect the Queen. Protect the Crown Prince. Protect the other children of the King. Protect the Crown Prince's family. Then protect the rest. In that order. I killed the King to do the basic good any Knight should do."

He couldn't help the self-reproachful laugh that escaped him at that.

"But I failed at protecting my Prince's family. I forgot that it was my Father at the door. And he has no mercy when he comes knocking. The only reason I'm alive is because he had a hope that I'd ask to leave the Kings Guard now that the King wasn't a madman. But then, he had to marry you to the King. The primary reason I put my name forward in the first place. I could never deny you anything. But, I can't let you kill any more innocent people Cersei. I can't. I'm sorry."

Jaime gives her a shaky smile, even as his own eyes begin to water. He didn't bring a knife. Nor can he see one. He lifts the golden hand and begins to pummel her. If the Gods had been kind, this wouldn't have needed to happen. But when have the Gods ever been kind?

* * *

Jon went to Sansa's chamber and noticed that Ghost lied next to the door and Brienne was already gone. He knocked on the door. A few short moments went by before Sansa opened the door. If she looked good yesterday. At least she did if he remembered correctly. Then she looked stunning now. The grey and the white seemed to contrast each other, but they seemed to highlight Sansa's complexion and her hair.

"Hey, Jon. Come in." She said with a flutter of her eyelashes as she stepped away from the door.

Jon closed it as he entered after her. She looked quite stunning. Her chest seemed larger than it did before. Why was he noticing that? He was not a fan of Lord Royce's plan. But he was. Good Gods why hadn't he left yet. Because he didn't want to, wasn't that obvious.

Walking over and taking his seat he looked her over again. Her hair was made up, he wasn't sure where that came from. But he did not think it was a Northern hairstyle. As Sansa had worn almost all of those at some point. And Arya had used the rest. He wasn't sure, but the way he had talked about the Reach, he thought it must've been from there. Her hair had been pulled back into a half-bun save for a lock of hair on each side of her face.

But the dress, he doubted that he could look at Sansa tonight without consciously reminding himself to look her in the eyes. He didn't know that there existed dresses with such a cut.

"So, what've you been doing today?" Sansa asks him.

"Nothing much, I helped Podrick train a bit. Tried to figure out how to pack. And then not that much else to tell really." Jon says as he keeps his eyes on hers.

"Well, here's hoping that your next journey is as short as the last one." Sansa says as she raises her goblet.

Jon can't help himself from giving a soft grin as he raises his own. "To a short journey then." He says as they clink their goblets together.

As they eat and talk, Jon forgets himself and lets his eyes wander. Sansa is grown, he's known that since they met at Castle Black. He's known that quite well since he helped her talk to the Wildling healers about procuring some moon tea. He wasn't happy that it was needed, but he stood by her as it was her choice. And he couldn't imagine anything connected to Ramsey Bolton being pure. No matter how little that thing, a child really, knew the man.

But nothing made him think of her as a grown woman more than when he was told that for the good of the North and of their own House, he should marry her. He'd always wanted her to acknowledge him. It felt easier to get her to do it than her mother. If Father had his way, he'd probably been held in captivity alongside her.

"What're you thinking about?" Sansa asks. His face must've shown that his thoughts were troubling him.

"Father wanted me to come with you girls south. To be your sworn shield. And to keep Arya somewhat in line." Jon says with a small smile.

"My sworn shield?" Sansa questions.

"He thought that a friendlier face would be better than Jory. I liked the man, but I doubt that he was respected down there." Jon contemplates.

"I doubt they'd have looked much better on you, Jon. I mean…"

"That I am a bastard? True, but I was also your brother. It is not unheard of. Bastards or another brother being their sisters Sworn Shield."

"I feel like there's nothing that's unheard of anymore." Sansa muses as she shakes her head. Her mouth puckered in mock distaste.

"Well, I'm sure if we study history as well as a Masester well see just how true that is. Then I'm sure we'll have heard that Casterly Rock and the Eyrie has indeed lost a siege once or twice." Jon jests as he takes a gulp of wine from his goblet.

"Don't be ridiculous Jon. The Eyrie is impenetrable. You'd need Giants just to have a chance at taking it." Sansa tells him, her face as happy as he's ever seen it.

"Well, I suppose it'll never lose another siege now then." Jon tells her as he thinks over the giants he's ever known. Each one of them as surprising as the last. Strong enough to lift a true with their roots from the heavily frozen ground. Yet, they may be some of kindest people he's ever met. None of them is easy to anger, but their anger is not something you'd wish to find either. With them gone, he doubts there's much left of the Old Tounge. Even amongst the Wildlings that language is dying out, especially with the death of the Thenns.

"I'm sorry, Jon. I know you viewed him as a friend." Sansa says though he can see the question in her eyes. 'How does one view a giant that'd make Hodor look like a dwarf, a friend?'

"They're a kind people Sansa. All of the Wildlings respected them. They were the turning point for Mance. Getting the Giants on his side made a lot more people respect him than before. They were slowly dying out. Even before the battle of Castle Black, there were hardly a dozen left. Only three of them were women. From what I gathered, they doubted they'd survive without getting south."

"I didn't mean. I didn't mean it that way. It's just, they're so big. And their language. How did you ever understand it?"

Jon couldn't help the twitch of a smile at that. "Mance, he was a good bard, He played a few songs in the old tongue. He also helped me learn a bit. After that, it was just picking up on things. Still shitty at it, though." Jon tells her.

"Well, that still sounds rather intriguing." Sansa tells him as she gets up and heads over to the chairs and the table that's sitting in front of the hearth.

Jon follows her and takes the chair opposite hers. As he sits down his gaze shifts to her chest yet again. Though he quickly moves it back to her eyes. They seem darker than usual. Like the sea of the Bay of Seals. If it was any darker it would be black.

"What is it, Sansa?" Jon asks as he leans forward and looks at her. She seems alright. Maybe it was just the wine.

Before he manages to do anything, Sansa's gotten up and climbed onto and straddled his lap.

"Jon, for both our sakes. Go with Lord Royce's plan. Please?" Sansa says as she shifts backwards a bit. His hands go behind her back and steady her. His right hand grabbing her bum and his left her back.

"Why?" Jon asks. He knows he wants to. But, why? They were raised as siblings. It would be wrong. But then again, who cares about right and wrong anymore. Edd would, sarcastic delirious Edd. Though he would laugh it off with a joke.

"I don't care what you think deep in your mind Jon. This is not wrong. And I don't care if it is. You wouldn't hurt me. You wouldn't belittle me. Though I think we need to work on you listening to me. I know, my standards have sunken a bit, but I think that we'll work as Father and Mother did. Please?" Sansa says as she inches forward and claims his mouth in a kiss. It is quick as he doesn't react until she's moving away again.

"Or not." Sansa says softly.

"Maybe you should try again." Jon gasps as his mind recognise what's happened.

"Maybe I should." Sansa sighs as she moves forward again. Though they kiss, Jon's not sure what he's feeling. Acceptance. Elation. Dread. Why is he feeling dread? He can ponder that on the morrow. For now, Sansa.

He trails his left hand up her back and twists some of her hair on one of his fingers as they deepen their kiss. Sansa seeming to try and snuggle as close to him as she can. Even though she's already done that.

He feels intoxicated when she pulls back with a happy grin on her face. Jon doesn't hesitate, though he moves slowly as he leans towards her and starts to kiss her from the swell of her breasts up to the side of her neck and to her mouth.

She seems confused at first but then she starts to encourage him by stroking her fingers through his hair. Slowly starting to pant as she forces him back in the chair.

"Are we fine now, Jon?" She asks with an arousing spark in her eyes. Was it always there, or was it there just for him?

"Yeah." Jon says huskily, "Yeah, we're fine."

"Good. Good." Sansa says as she follows him and seats herself just right. She kisses him again as she starts rocking her hips back and forth. Jon pants lightly in the kiss before Sansa slides herself back. She looks at his crotch for a moment before she stands up again.

"Would you be so kind and help me with unlacing the dress, Jon?" Sansa asks as she turns around.

Jon stands up and with half shaking hands he follows her request. The dress unlaced, he helps her get out of it.

Out of the dress, she, if anything, looks better. The blue and red chemise looked quite good on her. Though, he was thinking she'd look much better without it.

Before he could voice it, though. Sansa leapt into his arms. And forced him back in the chair. It seemed like the wouldn't be leaving it anytime soon. Her scent was rather easy to smell now. As the kissed, his hands stroked her legs from her knee up to her bum. He almost wondered what the material was, as it was quite soft.

"Jon, are we going to kiss, and touch all night? I'm not sure that's what we're supposed to be doing." Sansa tells him as she leans backwards a bit. Trusting him to keep her steady.

Before he can question her, she grabs a hold of his manhood.

"This may need to come out, I think." She says as her other hand starts to unlace his trousers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: That's about as explicit as I think I'll write. at least for this story.
> 
> Views on the last two scenes, please. Personally, I think they're some of the best I've written so far. Though that may not mean all that much.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry folks. December is crazy as it tends to be every year. Had this lying about for a while now, and finally managed to get around to posting it.
> 
> Enjoy.

Jon awoke the next morning and couldn't understand where he was for a moment. It was ungodly warm wherever he was. And he was sleeping more above his furs than under them. And he could feel long messy and tangled hair splayed across his chest. His left arm faint under the weight of whoever it was.

Opening his eyes, Jon saw red hair. Darker than he'd thought it would be. Blinking for a few moments, Jon regains a sense of where, and when. It was Sansa. Not Ygritte. God's if last night had done anything, it was to make him want to look out for her even more. He knew that the men, beasts really, that had made her aware of such things were dead. But part of him wished that they'd had the red woman revive them a few times so that they could die as many death's as he so wished them to.

But for now, they'd have to settle on living. And surviving. Jon felt that something would change soon. Before the turn of the next moon or so. And he was sure he wouldn't like it. The last time he'd felt it was when they'd left Hardhome.

Slowly easing himself away from Sansa, Jon got up and pulled on his trousers, shirt and jerkin. Before leaving, however, he gently roused Sansa awake.

"Rise and Shine, Sansa," Jon said before he gave her a chaste kiss.

"I'll be up in a minute." She said as she scrunched her eyes closed. And the rest of her body seemingly following.

"Alright," Jon said as he looked at her. Her chemise laid strewn between the chairs and the bed. Jon thought about light the fire in her hearth before he left. But he decided against it, it was warm enough already and they'd need the firewood for the evenings till winter truly set in. But even saying that it was merely a passable difference between the inside and the outside.

As he left her chamber, he didn't see Brienne or Podrick standing there. But, her guards needed sleep as much as the rest of Winterfell.

Jon left for his own chamber, just down the hallway really. And changed into fresh clothes. Jon decided he should probably take a trip to the godswood. Even if it was Sansa who asked for them to do it, he felt that he needed to speak about it to the Gods and potentially to Father.

As he left his chamber he picked up a cloak and fastened it as he walked trough the waking keep. Acknowledging those he knew from before. Few of those. And the few that he'd gotten to know in the last moon or so. Fewer still.

Walking across the courtyard, he noticed that few of the Vale knights were there anymore. Seemingly only Nestor and a few others that kept to training the men.

In the Godswood, Jon let himself feel more at ease. The snow has yet to fall over it as the heat of the ground kept the trees in full bloom trough out winter. Or so History have told him. Who knows what one of the Walker's snowstorms will do.

As soon as he kneels in front of the heart tree, Jon begins to explain himself to the Gods. Everything from when he was a boy who'd thought about Sansa in a definitely non-sibling way. To when he'd gotten together with Ygritte. While it was to try and get a better in with the Wildings. He could never deny that he felt like she was an odd blend of Sansa and Arya. Well, not entirely. Not now that he's seen Sansa again. But, at the time he'd thought so. Thinking now, Ygritte was definitely a lot more Arya than he'd thought back then.

He felt like he had to swallow something disgusting in the back of his throat at that. While he and Sansa were not close while growing up. He and Arya definitely was.

He said his sorry`s to Father, and Robb and Lady Catelyn at that. The more he thought about it, the more disgusted he felt with himself as he thought it over.

As he walked back to the keep, he could not help but swear to himself that there would be no more evening meals in Sansa's Chamber again. He swore that to himself, every step he took back. Yet, a part of him knows that it'll never last.

* * *

Her ship had docked at Kings Landing's harbour without any resistance. From what she saw from high above the city on Drogon, the city was half looted. The doubtful loyalty she'd gotten from the other's of Valyrian descent on Dragonstone and the holdfasts under its control was doubtful. But they'd sworn themselves to her without a second question.

The longer she stayed above the city, the more she was sure that there'd be no one to defend it. She signalled Drogon to let out a ball of fire towards the harbour. A signal for them to begin their march trough out the city. Viserion and Rheagal had stayed behind on Dragonstone. It was a rather fitting place for them to stay. It may not be the best place. But it was certainly better than a dungeon of a pyramid.

She and Drogon continued to circle the city and kept an eye on the progress that her men made from the harbour to the Red Keep.

But as they arrived at the gates, they were barred. Flying over to it, Daenerys noticed that there were men atop of it. And if she recalled Tyrion's lectures on such, it was Lannister men at arms. Most of them wore boiled leather coloured black and red. Well, now it'd be burnt leather coloured black.

With a signal of 'fire on top of gatehouse'. Drogon delivered. Some of the fire spilt over to the top of the gate itself. But that was within a margin of error.

Before the men on the ground could even try to open the gate, bolts started to fly trough the windows and arrow slits of the castle.

Drogon evaded them enough that none pierced his wings. But there were a few that hit him. It was first when they landed atop of the ruins of the old sept that she could assess the damage. Her thighs felt almost ruined when she slid off of him to do so. Looking him over she couldn't see anything.

But she felt the need to check on her own legs. Luckily it didn't seem like his scales had chaffed trough her leathers. She'd have to get a leather worker or a saddle maker to make her a dragon saddle, or three. She thought it'd be better safe than sorry with that.

"Time to show those Lannisters who we are, Drogon." Daenerys said as she got back on top of him.

She steered him around and to the back of the red keep. Tyrion had said that the throne room was behind a stained glass window that depicts the Seven Pointed Star in red and yellow. Seeing it she urges Drogon to release his strongest fire on it. Let the Lannisters dare oppose her when their keep has a hole in it.

But the fire doesn't just melt the stone around the window. No, it melts trough so much further than that. Ruining the stones as far up as to make the level above collapse in on itself.

As soon as Drogon is done releasing his fire. Daenerys have him circle the keep and lands in the courtyard where her men are fighting the Lannister men that have the gall to fight them in the open. Though their companions up in the windows doesn't seem to mind as they seem to hit their own men almost as often as they hit one of hers. At least if the bodies are anything to go by.

She allows Drogon to take out Lannister men as she surveys the courtyard and sees her own men start to push towards the main doors of the keep.

As her, men had won the courtyard. Daenerys urged Drogon to take to the air again. She flew back around the back of Red Keep and she saw the hole she'd left. But it wasn't a hole anymore. It was a ruin. A ruin she'd recall anywhere. She had Drogon fly closer. And she climbed over and slid down what little remained of the wall. Though it was still a good ten-foot drop.

As she walked down the great hall she could see it. This was the vision that she had in the House of the Undying. Quickly she looked around and saw the doorway that she'd walked trough in that dream. The closer to it she got, the more hesitant she was to go trough it. But she had to.

As she walked up the steps, she got doubtful. It was a ridiculous notion that she'd find Drogo and Rheago behind those doors. Almost as ridiculous as her entering a land that seemed to be in a state of never-ending winter. Not that she actually knew what winter was, it was something that has not touched Essos in thousands of years.

But she had to. As she gripped onto the door handle her fear solidifies itself. She's not sure how long she stands there holding onto the door until she hears men that scurry into the room from the main doors.

As soon as she hears them speak she hides behind the stoneworks between the balcony area and the main space of the room. Westerlanders.

Her hand grips the shortsword she'd barely gotten to training with. Knowing that she was as unskilled as she was she would do better trying to signal Drogon to come in here. But she doubted that was advisable. He was too big to turn around within the pillars that were still standing. And she was unsure how far back her men was, so she was reluctant to let him breathe fire in here.

She had her door. It's time she uses it.

And with that, she opens the door. No thinking of Drogo or Rheago. Just escaping those Westerlanders. She looks down the hallway and spots a staircase. She bounds over towards it as quickly as she can.

On the next floor, she comes face to face with one of the Westerlanders. His helmet abandoned and his dirty blond hair matted with sweat.

"So the Queen of Dragons come for my cock eh?" He says with a grin as he whistles in what she thinks is meant as appreciation. She may not have managed to fight a dozen men. But she feels confident enough to take on this half drunk man.

"Oh, yes. I'd like nothing better than to be filled by a proper Westerosi cock." She tells him seductively as her right-hand slides to her lower back and grasps the dagger she has there.

She moves towards him with sashay and lets her left hand touch his sweaty cheek. His own hand coming up to grip it and his other hand holding the small of her back. Pushing her closer to him. As he forces her to kiss him she slides her dagger free and before he can notice it, she plunges the dagger into his armpit. And when he stumbles back she plunges it into his neck.

Daenerys doesn't feel or notice anything until she arrives at Maegor's Holdfast. Or, the entryway to it. The place where her nephew and niece and good sister died. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. She didn't feel much of it, it was just a piece of knowledge about her family. The same as she knew about Aegon the Conqueror and how Balerion ruined Harrenhall. How he and his sister-wives released their dragons together on what would later be known as the Field of Fire.

She didn't know them. They were dead before she was even born. Aurane of Driftmark claims that it might have been the most tragic of deaths in the Targaryen dynasty since the Blackfyre rebellions.

She herself wasn't sure. She'd heard her parents had more stillborn children than they did children that got to live. Maybe if they'd lived, her father wouldn't have gone mad. Maybe her brother wouldn't have felt the need to take Lyanna Stark.

Whatever the case. If they wanted to win the siege. They'd need Maegor's Holdfast. But for now, with the drawbridge closed. There was no way to enter. Except possibly from the air. She hadn't thought of even trying to.

* * *

When Sansa woke later, her chamber was empty. Save Ghost. A part of her had hoped that Jon would be there. But apparently not.

Crawling out of bed, she walked over to her dresser and pulled out some stockings and a shift. Both of them grey. Them on, she walked over to her wardrobe and found a warmer blue and grey dress. If she was going to talk with Jon, she'd probably have to venture outside.

Last night was, better than she expected. If she could just convince him that whatever foolish notions were running around his head was just that, foolish. They might actually be good.

Though, Arya would not be too happy with that. At least if what their last conversation was to be believed. And now, who knows where she is. They might not ever have been close, but she was still her sister, she was still family. And that still meant something here in the North. Save amongst the Boltons and the Karstarks.

Fully dressed she settled on twisting her hair into a simple braid before she found the dagger Jon gave her and fastened it on her belt. As she walked towards the door she whistled for Ghost to follow her. And he did so obediently as she left her chambers. In the hallway, she found both Brienne and Podrick.

"My Lady," Brienne said in acknowledgement as she noticed her. Which were as soon as she stepped out of her chambers.

"Lady Brienne," Sansa said with a nod as she looked her over. Her armour was a dark blue, she assumed it was provided by Jaime as well as her sword. One of the two swords the Tywin had made from Ice.

"Where is my brother?" Sansa asked them as she closed her door.

"He is out in the yard my lady. Making sure the men are trained." Podrick told her as soon as Brienne looked at him questioningly.

"Very well, then that's where I'll go. Podrick, you wouldn't mind telling the kitchen that I'd like lunch served in my chambers within the hour?" Sansa asked.

"No, My Lady. I'll go and get on it. Is that all?" He asks.

"You'll have leave to train for the rest of the day," Sansa tells him, giving him a smile in reassurance when he looks to Brienne for allowance.

"I'm sorry Podrick. This was not exactly what I thought would happen when we started this journey. And until we have more men to guard Sansa, you'll be free to train on your own till that time comes." Brienne follows with her own reassurance.

They split then. Sansa leaves with Brienne and Ghost to find Jon. While Podrick leaves for the Kitchen.

Outside it wasn't that difficult to spot him, the old kennels were overfilled with men, some older. Most of them were young.

"He seems to inspire confidence in the men," Brienne told her as they headed towards it.

"He's skilled, and he proved himself during the battle," Sansa tells Brienne. As her own mind flashes of the view, she arrived to when The Knights of the Vale arrived. The only face she could distinguish in that rabble had been Tormund. Jon was nowhere to be seen, at least as she could tell.

But as soon as she heard or rather felt a silent gasp from Baelish, she spotted him. Emerging amongst the wildlings that were shepherded within the circle of pikemen.

Inside the Kennels, She saw what's gotten the men so excited about. Jon was duelling with Nestor. And as Winterfell was of the Old Gods, the men wanted to see Jon win the duel. Though there were a few, men at arms she realised, that wanted Nestor to win. And that seemed fair. He was the one that was training them, drilling them at what to do.

Personally, she thought the duel to be rather interesting. Even if she was uneducated in swordsmanship, just as she was in war, because while Jon was young he was not as tested as Nestor was. Therefore it'd almost be to see what was better. Young age, or skill. Though, it was almost impossible to say that Jon didn't possess both. He'd been the better swordsman between himself, Robb and Theon since he and Robb were ten. Five years he'd been the better swordsman. He'd apparently beaten Rodrik a few times as well. She didn't know if she believed those rumours. But it stands to reason to be some truth to them.

And before she can comprehend what happened. Jon caught Nestor's sword hand with his left. And laid his own sword on his shoulder.

"Good work, Lord Stark," Nestor says as he grins at Jon. Though he was tired after the duel. He seemed happy to be challenged.

"Likewise Lord Royce," Jon tells him as he returns the sword and walks over to one of the weapons stands in the room and places the dulled sword where it belonged.

She walked over as the crowds started to disperse. Heading in different directions to get to their jobs.

"That seemed a good duel, Jon," Sansa told him as she approached.

"It was. Harder than I thought, but, good." Jon told her as he looked at her from over his shoulder as he was fastening his sword-belt. "What're you doing out here?" Jon asks as he turns towards her.

"I was hoping you'd join me for lunch," Sansa told him. Immediately noticing the slight tension of his shoulders.

"Sure," Jon tells her a few moments later, his shoulders relaxed again.

"I'll see you later then," Sansa tells him as she turns on her heel and leaves the kennels turned training hall.

* * *

Jon wasn't sure what to do when he left the yard. He didn't want to disappoint Sansa. But he also didn't think their relationship to be right. What did the fact that they were Cousins change? Nothing. Looking at the Lannisters that just meant that their kids would try and get together. That didn't seem like something either of them would want to happen. Yet, it seemed like it would happen. At least if Sansa had a say.

Entering the keep, he headed for his chambers and changed his trousers and jerkin for a clean pair. He'd have lunch with Sansa. Then he'd hold court. It was one of his responsibilities. And so far he'd been neglecting them. They'd been in the hands of Ser Davos and Sansa for over a fortnight now. And he hadn't been part of one since his coronation. Not that it was actually holding court. It was an event that was nearly impossible to do without him.

Cleaned up, he headed for Sansa's quarters. The servants just returning towards the kitchen. Part of him felt bad about this arrangement. It was the norm before that the Stark family would dine in the hall like the rest. And now they had more meals in Sansa's chambers than out. It seemed to be a habit that was going around, as he didn't see Bran there either. Though, as he was not able to walk. That wasn't exactly his fault. Now it was just to have lunch with Sansa and tell her why they could not continue. It had to be easy enough. It wasn't like she could shoot him like Ygritte had.

He knocked on her door and waited till he heard her allow his entry.

Entering he found the room set up as it used to be for their suppers. Meaning that there was a table with food, two chairs around the table. And two chairs in front of the fire. Not that it seemed to be that unusual. There'd been chairs sat in front of the hearth in almost every keep he'd been to. Not that it was that many. But, enough.

"Hello, Jon." Sansa greeted him as he walked over to join her.

"Hey, Sansa."

"You weren't there when I woke up," Sansa told him with a slight pout.

"I had things to do," Jon told her as straightforward as he could.

"Like duelling Nestor Royce? I don't think that was planned, nor was it something that had to be done." Sansa countered before she took a piece of food to eat.

"I'm sorry if planning my moves take more time than I'd like, Sansa. But it's needed." Jon countered as he drank a mouthful of ale.

"It's not needed for you to waste your time on frivolous duels. The planning, I get. Helping Podrick train, I get. The duels I don't."

"Who're you to judge what's needed or not?" Jon asked calmly.

"I am the lady of Winterfell. It is my duty to make sure this castle is run as well as it can. And it can not run properly if you're doing absolutely needless things." Sansa tells him agitatedly.

"Like sleeping with one's own sibling?" Jon asks.

"What's that got to do with… You're trying to avoid me?" Sansa asks sharply.

"It's wrong Sansa. I don't care if we're cousins. Look what that did with the Lannisters?"

"And Look what it did with the Starks." Sansa retorts. "It's not an uncommon practice across Westeros. And the Starks are no exception. Our Grandfather and Grandmother were cousins."

Jon has no answer to that. He'd forgotten, but when she told him, he remembered. She truly was smarter than he'd given her credit for.

"Jon, the only ones that will care are the ones that still hate the Targaryens or the Wildlings whom I believe view intermarriage of a tribe as wrong. Can't their practice backfire and make cousins and uncles and nieces and such kidnap one another?" Sansa tells him.

And Jon can't help but think it over. It makes sense. But he can't help but feel shameful for lying with Father's daughter. He's sure if he'd thought of that when he first started thinking of her it'd never have gone as far as it did. Though, if it didn't, would he still have loved Ygritte and survived the Wildlings?

"I think you're right," Jon tells her slowly. "But I can't help but feel as if I'm betraying Father or Robb. Or your Lady Mother."

Jon looks up at her, feeling his right eye slightly watering. Her eyes go from almost indifferent to compassionate.

"Father wanted me to marry someone like you. Someone noble, honourable, strong, and compassionate. I can't think of somebody that embodies that better than you, Jon. And I doubt Robb would complain too much, at least he'd know I was married to someone that cared about me. I'd wish I could say the same for Mother. But, I don't think I can." Sansa said, her own eyes starting to water.

Without thinking, Jon stood up and walked around the small table and grasped Sansa in a hug. Trying to comfort her. She probably never had time to properly grieve. And now he'd brought it back to the forefront of her mind better than anything else could.

Slowly, Jon guided Sansa to her bed and sat down on it. Pulling her down onto his lap.

"I'm sorry, Sansa," Jon whispered to her as his right hand started brushing her back. Trying to sooth her.

"Even with everything, you still, even now, want her to acknowledge you." Sansa murmured from where her head rests on Jon's left shoulder.

"Aye, I probably do," Jon tells her. He'd let that go a long while ago. But, a part of him will probably always want her to do so. No longer an issue to consider tough as she's dead.

"I don't know what we are, or how long we have in this world, Jon. But I trust you, and I care for you. Mayhaps not as a man and wife should. But I don't want to consider anybody else. My next betrothed or husband might actually succeed in killing me." Sansa confesses to him.

And Jon can't help but squeeze her a bit to try and comfort her. To tell her he's there.

"I doubt they'll be much of a match for Lady Brienne," Jon tells her to lighten the mood a bit.

"I doubt that as well." Sansa concedes as she shifts around so that she can look at him.

Looking down at her, Jon can see her eyes studying him. Trying to understand what makes him tick. He's noticed it less and less since they took Winterfell. But, now she was doing it openly. Completely aware that he'd notice it.

"Perhaps it's better this way," Sansa mutters to herself as she closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder.

"What is?" Jon questions.

"To not play the game. To simply… Be." Sansa replies softly as she opens her eyes and looks Jon in the eyes. Sky blue meets mountain grey.

Jon twists his head and gives Sansa a quick, yet strong kiss.

"You've convinced me," Jon tells her, honestly, as he pulls back to the old position.

"Really?" Sansa questions with furrowed brows.

"Aye, you have." Jon concedes as he pulls them back, to lie across the bed. Sansa giving out a quick yelp in the process.

"What's that for?" Sansa questions.

"I don't know. Just felt like lying her with you for a bit before we get back to finishing our lunch. And speaking of, maybe we should start eating in the Dining Hall again. People are wont to speak soon enough if we continue to have all our meals in your chambers." Jon tells her to spark up a conversation.

* * *

It's been a month's time since he was last at the Trident. But Jaime could already tell that the onset of Winter was approaching. He hadn't seen anything like it in almost twenty years. It has almost been that long since he joined the Kings Guard after all. It has been that long since Rheagar and Lyanna ran off to Dorne in secret. Who'd care that he spat in the face of Robert besides Robert? If Rickard Stark wanted to improve the North's relations with the south, what better way than to have his daughter be Queen?

He wasn't sure. But he knew better than to voice his mind freely while in the company of the Manderly boy. While thin, he wasn't exactly light. The Manderly's, the owners of White Harbour and the wealthiest family in the North. Maybe save the Starks themselves. They were known to be on the heavy side. At least Jaime thought so, if he knew it, then surely everyone knew it.

As they came closer to Maidenpool the weather warmed, although just fractionally.

"Bloody weather this," Bronn says calmly as they rode on towards the city. The men that had been hired to take them down with the barges had baulked with the onset of Winter it seems.

"It's going to get a lot worse, Bronn, before it gets better. Why don't you go and take care of your wife? You're free to go." Jaime tells him. He'll probably miss him before he's even accosted by Manderly men. But he can't help but think that this man won't have to die to protect him against whatever monstrosity that awaits them in the North.

"Nah, you're brother wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I left you alone to die in some frozen wasteland."

"He's quite fond of that frozen wasteland. He even went to the wall so that he could piss off of the edge of the earth." Jaime tells the man.

"He probably would." Bronn concedes softly as they begin the last part of the journey into Maidenpool.

Jaime notes the damages on the gates, and the Kraken banners alternating amongst the Rose, the Inversed Lion, the Sun and Spear of Dorne and the three headed Dragon. Three banners short. And he doubts that even with his message to release Edmure alongside his wife and child. The Northern Kingdoms will never forgive this. Even with dragons, they'll probably do their best to resist even when it's all said and done.

But what startles Jaime as he and his party ride trough the streets are the look of subdued hope amongst the civilians. That's never been pointed his way before. What's happened here to make that actually happen.

"Lord Gold-hand." A mocking female voice shouts at him from up ahead.

Looking towards it, he spots a woman dressed in a blue-grey coat. Wearing leather breeches and leather chest-plate. Her hair cut short.

"Who're you?" Bronn asks as he looks her over as well. Probably for another reason, Jaime notes in the back of his mind.

"I'm none of your business. Lord Gold-Hand here has an audience with his brother." She notes dryly.

"I'm sorry to say, but we're late enough as it is," Jaime says shortly.

"He wasn't asking, so, neither am I. You'll talk to your brother or the Gods will have to have mercy on your house because I'm tired of working with you Lannisters already."

After a few minutes of walking, Jaime arrives at the Lords Solar at the keep. Not that he was against seeing Tyrion again. But he doubted it would be a good idea. It would cement their relationship for the rest of their lives, of that, he had no doubt. And if he was, to be honest with himself, it scared him.

"Jaime." Tyrion greeted from behind the desk. A goblet and pitcher stand on the right-hand side of the desk. While the rest is filled with missives, ledgers, books. And other papers.

"Tyrion. While It's good to see you, I doubt it's good for my longevity to keep on staying here in the South." Jaime says shortly as he looks at the Manderly boy.

"I know, I just wanted to ask you to offer my apologies to Lady Sansa. As well as this." Tyrion says as he gestures towards a chest.

"What is it?" Bronn asks as he looks it over.

Jaime himself can't see anything significant about it. Just a chest made out of a common wood. Painted black with a white wolf on the top lid.

"For the boy?" Jaime questions.

"In a fashion," Tyrion says with a grin. "Let's just say that the missives from the Northern birds arrive here, and I'm allowed to read them."

"Well, as long as you cry when you hear of my demise." Jaime japes.

"I'm sorry," Tyrion states it so softly that Jaime wasn't sure it was even said before he added. "I know it doesn't mean a lot coming from me, but I am - mostly for you, I am sorry that you had to do it, Jaime."

Jaime felt his legs lock in place. He'd cleaned the arm as best as he could. He'd even placed it in a bag to keep it out of the way on their journey.

"Words from the Queen, she was found dead in her chambers. The doors locked. And the way of her death would not be the way she'd go. She planned to poison herself you know, during the Battle of the Blackwater. And Tommen."

While Jaime was surprised of that, he wasn't sure why. She'd let her life be dictated by a prophecy since before she was married. Who knows why she did anything now. He thought he did at least. But now he doubted that.

"We should be going. Lest we arrive late." Jaime says shortly as he leaves the solar and signals a pair of men to take the chest down to the docks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for this chapter. I'll be back again in January. Happy holidays folks :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait. But alas, here's a short-ish chapter for now. I had started this before I posted the last chapter so I just sat down and wrapped it up, but it's not all that good. Mainly just moved some people and got on with the next 'leg' of the journey. I think I originally planned to have another chapter with JonSa 'fluff' If I can call what I've written of them that, before moving on.

They've been out at see for a while now. Jaime would wager they were halfway past the Vale. Not much more at this rate. The wind was definitely not doing them any favours as more often than not it blew southwards. Instead of Northwards. That meant that the ship had to rely more on the 'natural' trading routes. He could scantily recall a lecture about currents in the ocean that helped solidify the trading routes that we have today.

It has been barely two weeks, but Jaime has gone from bored, to fascinated, to dreading what will come. For so to become bored again. And so things have progressed. Not that he minded it much. He always did what he did without a second thought. But now, now, he had plenty of time to think about his actions before he could do something again.

Another week passed and they were closing in on the Sisters. Bronn got a worried look about him as they left the coast of Sweetsister and headed for Old Castle and further up the bay towards White Harbour.

As they saw the coast the boy, Wylis- he'd finally gotten his name into his head, got a noticeable measure of spine back.

Inside the bay, Jaime could see both edges of the coast at one time. On the western coast were not just swamps, but also a road. One of the White Roads if he recalled his short journey in the North correctly. On it, he saw men and carriages. The men were armed and wearing plate. The carriages were carrying what looked like stone, wood and iron. Were they reinforcing Moat Cailin? It would be better to strengthen their cities and castles and then build it anew once the winter has passed.

"Are they doing what I think they're doing?" Bronn asks as he comes up behind Jaime.

"Apparently so," Jaime says as he looks over to Wylis. He himself looks surprised as he watches the column of his father's soldiers escort equipment and supplies from his city to the castle of Moat Cailin.

Docking at the harbour took a long time as they were not flying a recognised trader flag, nor the flag of any known ally of the North. Not that the North had any allies, to begin with. But finally, they managed to dock thanks to Wylis throwing one of his pauldrons over to one of the small ships used to patrol the bay. With a quick glance, Jaime noted that the pauldron had a trident engraved and filled with silver.

Getting out on the docks they were greeted by an old man with half long worn, grey hair. He glared at Jaime for a moment before he engulfed Wylis in a hug.

Letting go of him, the man looks at Jaime before he signals the men at the side docks to come and take him.

"If I may suggest something, the chest painted with your KING'S personal coat of arms should be delivered to him. It is a gift as a show of good faith from the new Queen."

"Take him to Old Castle. Let him stew in a cell till I've figured out what we're to do with him." The old man, most likely Wyman Manderly, told the guards that took him.

"Where's your hand?" Wyman asked as the guards started to take him away.

"I must've misplaced it sometime after I stepped aboard, how idiotic of me," Jaime said, and unfortunately he couldn't stop from smiling as he said it.

It earned him a jab to the belly.

"Your sister isn't here to save you, King-Slayer, so you better start talking.

"Find what I asked you to deliver, and maybe I'll tell you where I misplaced it," Jaime said, making sure to make it known that he wouldn't negotiate on it. With a quick glance between Wylis and Bronn, he hoped he signalled that he'd prefer it for Bronn to stay out of it. Not that it seemed all that necessary because Bronn was standing there as if that sort of scenes was normal for him. Though, from what little he'd heard of his previous adventures it probably was.

* * *

Jon and Sansa were seated in the dining hall, eating breakfast, as had been the norm of the last fortnight. While they had the occasional meal in the solar or in Sansa's chamber. It had long since stopped being that normal. Between all of the nobles that were there, they had no shortage of conversational partners during their meals. Though, they did favour a few more than the rest. But few of them complained. And those that did, didn't do it all that often, or that loudly. So all in all it had been a fortnight of relative peace within Winterfell's walls.

But soon enough, Jon would be leaving. He couldn't tarry much longer. A couple of days more at most. And even that was getting him more and more worried. For some reason, he thought Jeor's raven would wake him by pecking out one of his eyes if he were any later than he already was. But he had to wait another couple of days to greet the refugee's that had left from the lands of the Dreadfort and Last Hearth. There were few, but they were escorted by some soldiers from their liege lord. Except for the Dreadfort. While it was currently under Ser Davos's control, he had yet to even set foot on the lands, much less the castle. It was mostly a provision from the Lords and Ladies gathered there during his Coronation that Ser Davos, if he was to be his Hand, would take control of the Dreadfort. But so far the man has been too busy to deal with Winterfell and the mess that it was in, and for not to say to try and communicate with Barrowtown. Not that Jon was going to hope much about it. Barrowtown would rebel as soon as it saw a chance. Most likely when the Frey's attacked Moat Cailin.

* * *

Arya wasn't certain what it meant to be herself again meant. But she knew that she couldn't just disappear again. While the Brotherhood Without Banners were a gruff and unfiltered bunch. They had a form of honour. Lines that they wouldn't cross no matter what. They were barely halfway trough the neck now. And she knew what awaited them on the other side. Moat Cailin with a rebuilding effort in progress. The Crannogmen were stalking them. That she was sure of, but what they knew was another matter. If they knew enough then they'd tell the men at Moat Cailin that she was coming, if not then they'd be under attack soon enough. None had attacked Moat Cailin without being at least harassed by them first.

It had been nearly a fortnight and she knew that sooner or later Yohn Royce will be behind them. Her original plan had been to mingle in amongst the servants as they journeyed north. Now they'd be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

* * *

Jon had packed his satchel and his saddlebags. They laid next to the door to his new chambers. Bran was now inhabiting his old ones. Jon's things had been packed up and laid in Bran's old tower chamber for now. During all of this Ser Davos and Bran seemed to have stricken up a good repertoire. Davos knowing that for all intents and purposes Bran would be the De Facto ruler of Winterfell while Jon was gone.

Jon had looked over all of the maps to find various paths for his journey, but none of them seemed to be better than the Kings Road. The Kings Road was simply the fastest path available. But he knew that if something happened that involved the White Walkers, the Kings Road would be too open, and such the alternative routes would be his options if that happened.

He heard the clank of armour down the stairs and knew that Sansa was coming. The only one that wore armour at almost all hours of the day was Brienne. Besides her, it was only those on guard duty that wore armour. And they did not wear plate. Even the nobles that joined did not do so, they just wore some form of maile and would get their plate on if the town were besieged.

Jon rose to his feet quickly as he wrapped up his maps and put them in the hide tubes that protected them and put them in their saddlebag.

As he rose up to his feet again he saw Sansa going up the stairs. Brienne being just barely visible on the landing before the door beneath the stairs. Sansa seemed to have settled on a range of White's, Grey's and Blue's for her clothes. One that her father and mother's houses had in common and one from each.

A white under-dress, a grey over-dress and a blue bodice. And of course, if she was outside she'd be wearing a grey cloak as well. Her hair seemed to be done in a very northern crown spiral…Thing?

"Jon." She said warmly as she stopped just at the top of the stairs.

"Sansa." Jon answered as he rose, smiling slightly.

"I suppose this is it then." Sansa added as she took a step towards Jon.

"I'll be back. I promise." Jon raised a hand to her cheek and brushed his hand over it briefly.

"You have no understanding of women do you?" Sansa asked as she begun to giggle.

"Apparently, I might as well be blind." Jon said ruefully as he stepped closer to Sansa.

"No, you're not that bad, though you could easily be better." Sansa said as she leant towards Jon, "I suppose I'll have to show you." She kissed Jon slowly "When you get back." As she leant back, Sansa sported a victorious grin.

Jon thought that if he already didn't have good reason to come back, that would be an excellent one.

"I suppose you've given me new incentive." Jon said as he looked her over in full one last time. She was lithe and beautiful. And for not to say, a survivor. She'd survive, one way or another he was sure she'd survive, even without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. So I have no idea when I'll get around to posting the next chapter, just that I still have hope of wrapping this up by the time the new season airs. It all depends on when we finally manage to take that trip to buy a desk and a chair. Like how difficult is it to even do that. It's like 5 hours tops...
> 
> Anyways, depending on how my writing goes this week (parents are away so I've set up on the kitchen table) there should be another chapter for next weekend as well.
> 
> PS: I played around with the AGOT mod for CK2 around Christmas, I found some twists for my story. And while wrapping up this chapter I found a twist for my next GOT/ASOIAF story too :) Need to write it down in that story's notes ASAP.


End file.
